


National Affairs

by TheAfterglow



Series: Are We Not More? [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, First Lady Rey, Horny Honeymoon, Journalist Rey, Political AU, President Ben Solo, Wedding Bells in the White House?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfterglow/pseuds/TheAfterglow
Summary: Ben Solo is the first unmarried man to be elected President in 79 years. Can he navigate leading the country while maintaining his nascent relationship with his former campaign press officer, Rey?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Are We Not More? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549903
Comments: 155
Kudos: 225





	1. America's Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome back! If you read and remember [If Not Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083872/chapters/32448747), this is a continuation of that story. If not - you might want to give it a look first!

February 3, 1965

_ Upon first glance the esteemed junior Senator of this state, Benjamin K. Solo, seems a straightforward Northeastern career politician. Born to beloved former New York State Governor Han Solo and his wife Leia Organa Skywalker in 1934, Senator Solo grew up primarily in Albany before attending private preparatory school when his father assumed office. From there he continued to undergraduate studies at Columbia where he graduated summa cum laude with a degree in political science, then completed a juris doctorate at Yale Law School before following in his father’s footsteps to become the youngest man elected by this state to the United States Senate. _

Rey shifted as she read the typewritten words on the paper but remained silent. She could recite them from memory she’d read them so many times.

_ The senator showed an early interest in politics by participating in forensics and debate league, becoming state champion as a junior in high school with his partner, Armitage G. Hux. The two continued on to compete nationally in 1950 where they placed sixth amongst their peers. A story published at that time covering the competition noted the senator’s preternatural ability to read his opponents and dismantle their arguments. “It was as though he can read minds,” one participant from Maryland is quoted as saying. “He knew your position before you even knew it yourself. It’s hard to strategize against that.” _

She rolled her lips between her teeth and sighed gently through her nose. 

_ Messrs. Hux and Solo have continued their friendship to the present and increased their collaboration with Hux assuming the role of Solo’s campaign manager for his presidential bid in this fall’s national election. Mr. Hux is himself a distinguished graduate of Harvard University and has been working for Coruscant Bank in Manhattan since graduating from college. Aged 31 and 30 respectively, the duo are certainly on the youthful end of the candidate spectrum. _

_ The Senator resides in Washington, DC and is not yet married. _

_ Age doesn’t appear to be hurting Senator Solo at the polls, however; he’s shown a commanding lead in the early primaries from New Hampshire to Iowa and shows no signs of slowing down as the national conventions approach later this year. _

_ Now in his fourth year of his Senate term, Sen. Solo’s experience lies solidly on national affairs, having served his constituents with the passage of the Interstate Banking Act (1963) that eases regulatory burdens for banks to do business outside their home states of incorporation. Critics claim the law makes new monopolies possible; Sen. Solo characterizes its intended effect as “smoothing out the legislative silos” that keep American industry from flourishing. _

_ It seems Sen. Solo is no stranger to a more comfortable relationship between regulation and industry than is traditionally deemed appropriate. Where Governor Solo’s leadership was marked by a period of laissez-faire that benefitted the state’s key economic drivers, his son often advocates for a direct, conscious coupling of business and government. _

_ One might look not to Gov. Solo, but to the Senator’s maternal grandfather Anakin Skywalker, to understand how he came to adopt such a position. Skywalker’s business dealings in England flourished throughout the 1930s by taking government contracts that allowed subcontracts with Germany. Records show that some of these were fulfilled using manpower in Third Reich forced labor camps. _

“This is very thorough,” Ben murmured. “You really went after me. More than I even realized you would.” 

“I was just doing my job,” Rey countered. It had been just a year since she’d written these words and she still felt a glow recognizing good work done. Just the same, she still felt a twinge of disappointment when Holdo withheld her piece to protect him. 

His smile creased his cheeks and he propped up on one elbow to continue reading out loud.

_ “Skywalker’s daughter Leia immigrated to the United States ahead of her mother, Padmé, and has flourished as a fixture in the state charity fundraising scene both during and following Governor Solo’s tenure. As a board member of Alderaan Children’s Hospital in New York City, Mrs. Solo’s work has brought in record donations and endowments--many from the same businesses that profited under her husband’s relaxed administr--”. _

“What--” Ben broke off and scowled towards the record player. “What in God’s name is this music? It’s not even music!”  
  
“Midge lent it to me,” Rey smiled. Her friend had shoved the record into her hands and insisted she listen to it, as Midge put it, _ like yesterday _. They had put it on before lying down by the fireplace and a constant, repetitive phrase of piano issued from the speakers. “It’s a New York composer named Philip Glass.”

“It’s--” Ben shook his head, grasping for words. “It’s _ terrible _. When I told Midge I owed her, this isn’t exactly what I meant!”

Rey closed her eyes and shrugged. “So change it. There are plenty of other records.”

Ben pushed up from the floor but the telephone ringing in the kitchen changed his course before he was halfway to the record player. 

“Do they know we’re out here?” Rey asked. 

“No. Er, I mean…. Yes, of course. But no,” Ben answered as he grabbed the phone. “Hello? Oh, hey Dad.” 

He rolled his eyes at her. Rey went to the window to peer out of the house and spotted the unmarked car exactly where they’d last seen it, halfway down the block under a tree. A figure in the driver's seat lifted one finger off the wheel at her movement behind the curtain. She recognized the man by his bulk and felt comforted knowing Wexley was outside. 

“Sorry about that, yeah,” Ben continued. “We came out unexpectedly. You know how it is.”

Rey could hear Han murmuring thought the phone and pictured him upstate, a Scotch in hand and the dog lying on the braided rug in front of the fireplace. She had last seen him at the inaugural ball, where they had danced numerous times as Ben filled his obligations elsewhere. 

“Dad, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” Ben interrupted his father. “Gotta make time with Rey while I can.”

She crossed her arms and drew her hands up into the sleeves of the fisherman's sweater she'd thrown on when they'd arrived several hours before at the beach. The heat had been on low for the winter and they had not bothered to restore it. Their trip was too short to make the effort. It was a stark contrast to the Fourth of July holiday: town seemed deserted and the flat, grey clouds crowded near the tops of the bare trees. Gone were the bright striped cabanas and the well-heeled families strolling the wooden walks to the water. She had spotted a few people hurrying along with dogs bundled up in layers that disguised them entirely. 

Ben hung up with a deep sigh. “Fucking neighbors,” he grumbled. “They called the cops because they thought we were burglars, so the police called my father to see if he knew who was out here.”

Rey gently lifted the needle from the EP without comment and replaced Midge’s record in its sleeve. She heard Ben draw near behind her but still started as his hands slipped around her waist. 

Or where her waist might be under the enormous sweater. 

“Are you cold?” Ben’s lips met the side of her neck and a shiver hiked her shoulders. 

Rey placed a jazz record on the turntable before answering. “Not anymore. Are you sure no one knows we’re here?”

He stood back enough to allow her to turn around. She propped her chin on his chest and let him draw her close, swaying gently to the music. 

“Just the people who need to know,” he replied. “So... basically everyone.” 

Rey turned her cheek to his shirt and let him hold her. It had already been weeks since they’d been able to spend any time alone together, and his schedule didn’t look to be freeing up any time soon. Hux controlled his calendar as Chief of Staff, and while their friend was sympathetic, he was also good at his job. Maybe a little too good.

“It’s hard for me, too,” he offered, his voice reverberating against her ear from his chest.

The grandfather clock ticked slowly and Rey became aware she was holding her breath. 

“I know,” Rey exhaled with a rush. “But I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

He gently tugged her ponytail so she would meet his eyes once more. 

“You’re coming to the regatta, right? That’ll be fun. And you’ve got that speech at the college to get ready for.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Rey agreed. “It wouldn’t do for me not to give you a ribbon, Sir Benjamin.” 

Ben’s eyes crinkled at this reference. Their lives had been turned upside down ever since the election, and more so since he had taken office barely a month prior. He had agreed to row with Hux for a charity benefit and it was sure to be a social event with Phasma and Finn there to support them. 

“But that’s next week, so let’s enjoy tonight, alright?” His enormous hand smoothed over her hair and their lips met. A log popping on the fire and the distant whine of a car’s motor down the main road were the only sounds aside from the music.

If Rey thought the time between the first kiss that he stole right here in his parents’ house and their next had made her impatient, the word had earned a whole new meaning by now. Each meeting was so brief it left her wondering if it had really happened and yet aching for more. 

“Did you like my article?” Rey murmured against his mouth. 

Ben pulled away and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Her heart raced in anticipation of his judgement as a ghost of a smile crossed his face. Just when she thought he would answer her honestly, he shook his head gently. 

“It’s time to let old things die, don’t you think?” He bent in once more before picking her up and turning towards the stairs. “We have better things to do than worry about what you thought you knew about me a year ago.”

* * *

The day of the race dawned grey and bleak: the type of cold air that went straight through clothing with a damp chill that felt more like twenty than mid-thirties. Rey hugged her arms around herself, regretting her choice of a grey wool spring coat. It looked good over her trousers, but lacked a lining that would keep her warm if any kind of wind blew up. A coating of frost still lay in the shadows on the riverbank as Rey and Phasma set to arranging their blanket in a prime spot amongst the families gathering to cheer on their rowers. Finn stood shivering in a camel-colored trench with a shearling collar and his hands gripping the red plaid thermos to keep from shaking. His red hat with ear flaps was tightly laced under his chin and his shoulders hiked up like a turtle trying to pull its head back into its shell. 

“You put something beside coffee in this, right?” 

Phasma grinned like a Cheshire Cat. “This isn’t my first meet, sailor. It’s the only way to make things tolerable.”

Rey stood from her work and dusted her gloved hands, giving a veiled glance around them. “Yep. We’re going to need some of that.” 

Turning her head and stretching as though she were stiff from sleep, she spotted at least three plainclothes agents on similar blankets around them. The men had followed them onto the bank, waiting to see where they picked their spots before selecting their own within a short distance in a rough triangle around her group. Like them, the men were dressed in woolens with stocking caps and scarves disguising their heads and placed Thermoses of hot beverages at their disposal to ward off the morning’s icy chill.

Finn dropped to his knees to retrieve extra mugs from the picnic basket, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering openly. Rey accepted the red handled top of the Thermos and sniffed the mixture before taking a large sip. The liquid burned her tongue less from temperature than sheer strength, then continued burning as she swallowed. 

She coughed delicately and murmured, “Phas, this coffee is really strong.” 

Before her friend could react, Rey felt a tug at the hem of her jacket and turned to see a girl no more than ten grinning up at her. 

“Oh, good morning,” Rey smiled. “What’s your name?”

The girl suddenly caught a case of shy and her father nudged her forward with a hand at her back and a wink to Rey over the girl's head. Finn held out his hand for her cup without comment. 

“Elizabeth.” Her answer was so quiet Rey had to lean in to hear it over the din of families settling all around them. 

“That’s lovely,” Rey dropped to one knee now so she was roughly the same height. “Do you know someone racing today, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked back at her father again, who raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

“Just the President.” 

Rey smiled at this. “Thank you for coming out,” she glanced up at the man. “I’ll be sure to tell President Solo he has a dedicated fan.”

“Actually,” he scratched his head, “Elizabeth wanted to ask _ you _ something.”

“Oh?” Rey directed her attention back to his daughter. “What’s that?”

The girl shyly produced a small book from her coat pocket. It was a spiral bound block with a pen clasped in the metal rings. 

“Can--I mean, _ may _ I have your autograph, miss?”

Rey took the notebook gently and flipped it open. “Of course,” she confirmed. 

_ To Elizabeth _, she wrote on a blank page. She paused, wondering what else to write besides her own name. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it still made her feel strange being asked at all. 

“She’s a huge fan of yours,” her father beamed above them. “Has all the newspaper clippings about you stored in a box in her room.” 

Without seeing them, she could practically feel Phasma and Finn suppressing smiles behind her on their blanket. Her newfound fame was a rich source of amusement to them. 

_ Reach for your dreams _, Rey finally scrawled, then signed her name with a flourish that looked nothing like how she had written her name three months prior.

Elizabeth’s smile could’ve split her cheeks as she took back her autograph book. 

“Thank you, miss!” 

“You’re welcome,” Rey replied, glancing at Elizabeth’s father. The man smiled too and nodded in thanks before steering his daughter away with a hand on her shoulder. 

In her peripheral vision, Rey could see Wexley relax back to his blanket once the family was reunited and Elizabeth was proudly showing off her new trophy. She shifted her attention back to her companions, who looked ready to burst from holding in their giggles.

“What?” Rey sipped delicately at her coffee. “She was very polite.”

Finn’s eyebrows shot up as he took a deep draught on Phasma’s morning cocktail. “Mmmmhmmmm.”

“Isn’t it weird though?” Phasma said this quietly. “People you don’t know coming up to you like that?”

Rey shrugged and picked at the hem of her sweater’s wrist where it hung past her coat sleeve. “It doesn’t cost anything to be nice to them, does it?” 

She caught the look her friends exchanged before she continued. “They’re mostly just curious. It’s been a long time since Washington had a good romance.”

“Yeah, and how’s all that going?” Finn cocked his head as though curious but looked about as innocent as a housecat caught dipping a paw in the goldfish bowl. 

She and Phas glanced at each other. Phasma knew full well how busy Ben and Hux’s schedules were, and that it allowed little, if any, time for traditional courtship. Twice already she had been waiting to meet Ben, only to receive a handwritten note on White House letterhead saying _ something had come up _. She knew now to bring books wherever she went lest it look like she was being stood up. Their weekend at the beach had soothed her a bit, but also served to reinforce where she stood in the pecking order of his new public life.

She also knew Finn was not Ben’s biggest supporter. Her friend had expressed reservations about their relationship from the moment she had confided in him--or, once they had begun speaking again after her unceremonious firing from the campaign--and she was not too proud to admit some of Finn’s concerns had come to pass. Like any public figure, Rey had her admirers and her detractors, and those who chose to pick away at her stooped to levels she thought previously out-of-bounds. And for every puff piece that called her America’s Sweetheart, the muckrakers found new ways to rhyme unflattering words for women with Ben’s official titles. It was a curious kind of fame: she was as famous as a Hollywood ingenue but her behavior was judged by a higher standard, almost as if she were courting a religious figure and not merely a politician. 

How the press were so invested in her past while excusing Ben’s own notable history was an aggravating mystery. 

Rey scanned the opposite riverbank where the teams were assembling and spotted the Presidential motorcade along the road at the top. The Secret Service were already out on foot, sweeping the regatta’s staging area once more before Ben would be allowed to exit one of the limousines idling by the curb. 

“It’s going,” she said simply. 

Phasma shook her head ever so slightly at Finn before announcing, “Let’s not ruin this perfectly frigid morning with relationship talk, hmmm? Who needs more coffee?”

Rey and Finn both thrust out their cups with a giggle and the tension between them passed. For her part, Phasma’s Nebraskan roots made her seemingly impervious to the cold and she looked glamorous despite being bundled like a Siberian grandmother: a colorful paisley scarf wrapped over her head and a wisp of her platinum blonde locks peeked out along the line of her forehead above her oversized, white-framed sunglasses. The overcast weather hardly necessitated eye protection, but Phasma rarely conceded style to something as mundane as a cloudy day. 

“So how does all this go?” Finn jerked his chin towards the Potomac. 

“You’ll see,” Phasma dismissed the question with a wave of her hand as she took a long gulp of her beverage. “Mmmm, I did make a strong batch!”

“They race by age group,” Rey supplied. “Hux and Ben will be in the Master class, since they’re over thirty.” 

“Lemme guess, they go last, don’t they?” Finn’s face fell as he glanced at his watch and shuddered once more from cold. 

“Naturally,” Phasma confirmed. “We’re here for at least a couple hours. Let’s just say, there’s a lot of… build-up to the main event, and then that part’s pretty short.”

Rey hid her smile at Phasma’s analogy with another sip of the scalding brew. Her middle was beginning to glow with the warmth of alcohol. Their banter was cut short when the loudspeaker crackled to life and the organizers began announcing the upcoming races. 

Once things got underway, Rey was able to forget the agents around them and concentrate on the packed heats of the lower divisions that comprised most of the area’s high school teams. A few close heats in the lower divisions had the crowd on their feet and her party leapt up as well to see the finishes. 

“Well, you didn’t tell me they’d be wearing shorts,” Finn murmured as he admired the young men carrying their boat back to the rack with his binoculars. “Look at their _ legs _.” 

Rey smiled at him as her own cheeks grew hot thinking of Ben’s legs in tennis whites the previous summer at the beach. 

“Rey,” Phasma grabbed her ankle and gave it a shake. “It’s finally them!”

“Should we go down there now?” Rey asked. They had agreed to meet the men at the announcer’s podium after their race and it was a bit of a hike. 

“Go!” Finn waved them away. “I’ll hold down this fort.”

The walk to the podium took longer than expected when several people stopped Rey along the way to take pictures and talk to her. The women wove a crooked path to the stand just in time to see another scull cross the finish line a half-length ahead of Hux and Ben. 

“Do you suppose that was on purpose,” Rey wondered quietly. 

“Rey, that is so cynical of you, we just might make a politician out of you yet,” Phasma drawled as she clapped delicately. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the two-man portion of our Masters class.” The speaker was very loud overhead and crackled slightly on the end consonants. “Thanks to all our competitors, and congratulations to our winners. We’ll be moving on with the four-man teams now.” The announcer sounded as if he also wanted the regatta to end as quickly as possible.

The women waited as their men rowed lazily back to the finish line where they hauled their boats up onto the bank before hoisting them overhead. A crowd gathered around them and it took them just as long to reach the announcer’s stand as it had Phasma and Rey with all her admirers. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hux greeted them with a peck on Phasma’s cheek. 

“Good work,” Rey congratulated them. “You made it look easy.” 

“A bit too easy, obviously,” Hux shrugged. “We could’ve won that. We’re out of practice.”

“Sorry,” Ben said this to his friend, but he was looking at her. “Good morning.”

Rey’s heart flip-flopped at how handsome he looked in his boat shoes without socks, old Yale sweatshirt and shorts. His hair was disheveled and hanging across his forehead but his eyes were bright and a spot of color warmed his cheeks. A distinct shadow darkened his upper lip and jawline. 

“Morning,” she replied. 

“Mr. President? Photograph of you and Mr. Hux for the Post?” A reporter stepped between them before Rey could say anything else. 

“Of course,” Ben said, standing at ease with his friend holding their oars as the flashbulbs popped. A half-dozen spectators ducked in with cameras to capture them in the same pose and several took photos of Rey without asking. Phasma cleared her throat and angled them away from the onlookers with her hand on Rey’s elbow.

“This is your better side,” Phasma whispered. “Smile with your eyes.”

Rey felt as though she were squinting but played along. She gave a shy wave to the crowd and wanted to die at the smattering of applause that ensued. 

“Can I give you a ride home?” Ben asked once the frenzy had dissipated. “Hux’s going home with Phasma, so I can take you.”

Rey hesitated. Her security detail were still up on the riverbank and she knew how much it irked them to break protocol. Her safety was their life’s work and they took it seriously. And… Finn. He had ridden with them.

“Please? I’ll have you home before midnight, I promise. You won't turn into a pumpkin, princess.” He grinned at his own joke and took her hand to lead her away. 

“But what about the--”

“My guys will grab them.” Ben was already steering her towards his limo. “No one’s with me today, we can ride alone.” 

She quickened her pace to keep up with him up the steep hill even as she glanced back, looking for her friend. Finn caught her eye just as they crested the bank and gave a half-hearted wave. She thought he gave a shake of his head but before she could be sure, Ben was tugging her into the limo.

The secret service shut the door behind them and they were alone in the cavernous space. The engine had been running, so the warmth was a welcome change from the outdoors. Rey traced her frozen knuckles over the plush, navy blue velvet interior. 

“Where are we going?” Rey asked as Ben stretched out and pulled her close to his side. Despite having been out in the cold, he radiated heat from under his sweatshirt and she hid her frozen fingers in the hem. 

“I thought I’d take you to brunch,” Ben said as he planted a kiss on the part of her hair. “And… have you been drinking? You smell like whiskey.”

“Phas made us some coffee,” Rey giggled. “It was pretty strong.” 

“I can imagine,” Ben chuckled. “You look very pretty today. I’m glad you were able to come out. You know it means a lot to me.”

His praise always had the most curious effect on her, making her both bashful and giving her the sensation of something growing in her middle. It made her feel needy to catch herself seeking his approval, but left her slightly embarrassed to admit how much she craved it. 

“Well, luckily I was able to rearrange my schedule,” she joked to deflect. “Someone else cancelled. Where are we going for breakfast?”

Ben made no comment on her barb and instead, hugged her closer. 

“I know a place,” he said simply, and Rey could hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really love Philip Glass, but Ben is right here-- his early works are definitely strenuous to listen to. This is a short segment of his 1967 piece, [Two Pages](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9Lttt0fUPQ). 
> 
> Rey's right, there hasn't been a White House wedding in a very long time; [Grover Cleveland married](https://www.bustle.com/articles/87904-these-2-single-us-presidents-in-history-prove-theres-precedent-for-candidate-lindsey-grahams-bachelor-status) while in office in 1886. And... am I the only one who didn't know Lindsey Graham was a bachelor? LOL
> 
> Thanks for reading, and HMU on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes!


	2. Commander-In-Chief

_ February 26, 1965 _

The house was quiet when he woke, but Ben knew it was deceptive. Even with the sky still black outside the two-story arched windows of the residential quarters, a hive of activity was buzzing three floors below. The kitchen staff were already awake, the guards at full attention, and Hux was likely to already be at his own desk in the staff wing, strategizing how to meet the day’s appointments.

For his part, Ben had spent his first month in office learning how to fit into their routine more than they into his. Some staffers had worked here his entire life--who was he to tell them to do their jobs differently? Others had parents or grandparents who’d proudly served past presidents. No, it was not his place to come in and change everything. He had to learn their rhythms, their language, the shorthand that developed among people who had worked together so long at a common purpose that even a glance could capture a full sentence’s worth of sentiment. 

Certain things he made concessions for, not wanting longtime employees to feel unwanted. Really, what did it matter over such small things? He eschewed the idea of a personal butler but allowed them to lay out his suit the night before. Of course he could get his own drinks from the kitchen, but there was a certain satisfaction in pressing a button and having it brought to his office on a tray. Tony had lived with his family since he was a baby, but the Skywalker-Solos had not had the same formal type of relationship some upper-crust families had with their help. His father outright forbade it as an offense to his own working class background and even Leia, for all her airs of being new American royalty, conceded that they were not the kind of family to have such help. 

If anything, he had been Padmé’s closest companion, each a link to the other’s old life before immigrating to their new world. 

“I belong to the past,” Tony had often remarked. “No one appreciates our kind here.” 

Ben grinned at his reflection as he wiped away the last shaving cream from his neck and set to dressing himself. Tony was at loose ends with Han upstate, their first winter spent in New York since Ben had been elected to the Senate six years earlier. Han refused to winter in Florida this year without Leia, and while Ben could tell Tony was devastated to miss December shuffleboard season and the opportunity to wear whites past Labor Day, he didn’t dare leave Han to his own devices just yet.

“It wouldn’t do,” Tony shook his head when Ben had suggested it privately at Christmas. “He’s in a state without her.” 

He was nearly through lacing his dress shoes as the horizon first turned grey and his wristwatch indicated 6:15 AM. Ben opened his bedroom door and the uniformed guard outside in the hallway snapped to attention with his fingers at his brow.

Ben saluted back with a clipped, “Good morning.”

“Mr. President.” The soldier replied without making eye contact or blinking. 

He proceeded to the elevator at the end of the hall and waited with his hands in his pockets. The younger man had not moved and he called back just as the doors were closing.

“Have a good day, McClaine.” 

“Sir, thank you and the same to you, sir!” Nothing moved aside from the man’s jaw. If Ben had blinked, he would’ve missed the rapid-fire reply. 

“Office?” The elevator attendant pressed the button before Ben could give his answer.

“Thank you,” Ben nodded. “How’s your day so far?”

The gentleman chuckled. “Just like life, sir. Some ups, some downs. ‘Bout yourself?”

Ben smiled and traced the pattern of the rug that decorated the elevator’s floor with his toe before answering. 

“We’ll see when the papers come in, won’t we.”

The elevator chimed once as it passed the second floor before the other man spoke again. 

“I know it’s not my place, Mr. President, but for my part? I think you did the right thing. So thank you.”

With a slight bump, the car settled at the landing of the first floor and the doors slid open. 

“Thank you for saying so,” Ben squeezed the man’s elbow before exiting. “I appreciate you saying that.” 

Hux was waiting three steps into the hallway with his leatherbound binder under his arm and the two men fell into lockstep as they proceeded to the Oval Office. His friend wore a sweater vest beneath his suit jacket and Ben thought he detected a chill in the air of the main floor. His chief-of-staff launched into his schedule without any fanfare.

“Alright, so today’s the regular briefing with the Pentagon at 9:30, the senators from the education taskforce are coming by at 11, quick lunch, the speech over at the Library of Congress at 1:30, short break to read proposed legislation, then meeting a group of civics majors who’re visiting from--” Hux had to consult his notes. “--Wyoming at 4.” 

“Anything before 9:30?” It was barely 6:30 and the sky was turning a lovely shade of pale winter pink behind the bare trees.

Hux’s finger trailed down the morning column in his planner as though he didn’t already have it memorized. “Mmmm, time to peruse the reaction to the veto in the morning editions. And breakfast, of course.”

They came to a stop outside his office door and faced each other. Ben looked Hux in the eye, trying to read his friend.

“You know I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You know I don’t wear sweater vests, either, but we do what we have to, now don’t we?” The smallest smile quirked the corner of Hux’s mouth before it straightened back to an impervious line. Many of the staff had yet to warm to Hux’s brusque sense of command, but Ben detected his friend’s old sense of wry humor bubbling to the surface more frequently after nearly two months on the job. 

“Thanks, Armitage.” 

“None needed,” Hux was already away. “I’ll come see you at lunch about your library speech. It could use some work.”

Ben closed the door gently behind him and noted the tray with coffee already waiting on the desk. 

Today marked his fifty-fifth day in office and the sight of this room, this place, still gave him butterflies as he took it in. He had been here numerous times before on visits to the previous president for his committee work in the Senate, but it struck him differently now that he was the one sitting behind the Resolute Desk. Now that it was his choice of curtains, that the rug between the couches was one from his parent’s home, his framed portraits of his family sitting on the desk.

He settled into the leather chair and took his first sip of coffee. Before diving into the day’s papers, he opened the pencil drawer in front of him to glance at the picture he didn’t have framed on his desk. This one he kept back, feeling like it was too private to show off to the world.

Everyone knew about Rey, of course. There was no hiding her--nor did he want to. 

But the fact of his life, as it currently stood, felt like they were hiding in plain sight. No matter what the tabloids supposed about Rey’s comings and goings from the White House, his schedule kept them apart to the point where he sometimes felt like they were playing a couple more than being one when they were together.

Ben shut the drawer with a sigh and drew the papers close. 

_ In an unexpected move, President Solo vetoed the Choice in Education Act yesterday. This bipartisan piece of legislation would allow families to choose what schools their children would attend regardless of residential status or district lines. _

His eyebrow raised at this vanilla characterization of the bill and he tossed it aside to look at the editorials in another paper.

_ Curiously President Solo, himself a graduate of private schools, does not seem to grasp the equalizing effect this law might have had for those minority students who are not fortunate enough to reside in wealthier districts. _

"First of all,” Ben muttered to himself, “‘Bipartisan’ doesn’t describe something that barely passed each chamber.”

Not only had the bill passed by the narrowest of margins, the voting had broken down strictly by nearly Civil War-era divisions. 

_ Our young President might do well to remember the slim victory awarded to him in November when wielding a hammer as powerful as the veto _, read another editorial.

“Is that a threat?” He scoffed out loud now and took a large sip of the coffee, cooled now to the point of drinkable.

Reading this criticism made him even more sure that he had made the right decision. Legislation, as he knew from his time in Congress, was rarely a straightforward affair. _The_ _will of the people_ was more like a church potluck: many variations of the same meat-and-potatoes casserole, a few gelatin molds that looked transparent but housed any number of suspicious fruits, and an inevitable dish whose origin was unclear than no one wanted to touch. And the final version of the bill as it has crossed his desk held clauses that were last-minute additions to cater to anti-civil rights groups who still angled to desegregate public schools. _Brown v. Board_ was a full decade behind them already and yet the Choice in Education Act would circumvent the spirit of that decision at the federal level. 

A rock settled in Ben’s stomach picturing how the eleven o’clock with the education taskforce was likely to unfold.

* * *

Four forty-five came sooner than expected and Ben found himself lying on the couch with his foot propped up on the arm when Hux knocked.

“Is it Scotch o’clock?” Hux helped himself at the bar cabinet and appeared in Ben’s line of sight carrying a cut glass tumbler with two fingers’ worth of amber liquid. This particular batch was a gift from a distillery in Ontario and had a beautiful hue when the light caught it.

“Thank you,” Ben straightened up from his reclining position to accept the glass. “To Thursday?” He raised his glass towards his friend.

Hux folded his long frame into the corner of the opposite couch before answering. “It’s Wednesday, but let’s drink either way.”

Their glasses clinked softly above the coffee table and Ben took a deep draught of the alcohol. 

“It’s only Wednesday,” Ben breathed. 

“Your speech was good,” Hux offered, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped them. “Nice historical content about the library.”

“Thanks.” 

Hux waited a beat before he remarked, “The veto thing is… not great. Your approval rating is taking a beating already.”

Ben remained silent, rolling the tumbler in his hand and admiring how the liquid formed legs as it settled back into the bottom of the glass. The birds chirped outside in the bushes as evening began to fall and he finally remarked, “It’s not a popularity contest, is it?”

Hux’s eyes narrowed over the rim of his glass. “It is a bit, though.”

The margin of Ben’s victory in the election had been one of the slimmest in recent memory, and the probability that he had been elected by hardliners who had discarded his opponent on the basis of a racially-charged parentage scandal more than nagged at him. Many voters had expressed their dismay at the choices in exit polls, saying they felt forced to choose between two men who had lied about their families to the American people. He pictured Rey in front of him again. 

_ “Is this really what you came here to ask me, Rey from the _ Times _ ?” _

She had looked up from her notepad and appeared caught off-guard by his direct challenge.

_ “Because if I recall correctly, you wanted to ask about my family more than about my politics.” _

_ “Well,” she paused, “Do you think that is of interest to voters?” _

_ “One of the great strengths of this country is that we don’t adhere to dynastic rule,” he explained, knowing how pedantic he was being. “Our leaders are freely elected, not appointed. The people choose who they vote for.” _

Hux wasn’t wrong in his assessment. As much as Ben hated to admit it, the interworkings of the government wasn’t a concern for most people, but it was easy to lose sight of that inside the Beltway where people made their life’s work of it. 

“You know what might help, though.” Hux phrased this as a statement rather than a question. 

Their eyes met and Ben drained his glass before answering. “I just want it to be for the right reason.” 

Hux rolled his eyes and he smiled, the first real smile Ben had seen from him in weeks. “The right reason is, you _ love _ her. This shitstorm over the veto doesn’t change that, does it?”

“Of course that’s the reason,” Ben replied. “I mean I don’t want it to seem like I’m doing it only to distract from all this.”

“It’s a risk,” Hux narrowed his eyes at a movement outside the window and Ben tracked his gaze to see the guards changing shift outside the office. It was nearly five and the daytime man was off the clock.

“But you wouldn’t be getting married for awhile,” Hux continued reasonably. “Would you? We’re not in a shotgun situation. Unless you have something you want to share.”

“No,” Ben answered quickly. No, there was little danger of that, not with how absurdly busy his schedule was and how careful they had been. “That’s true, it takes time to plan these things.”

Hux’s smile grew until he was showing his teeth, and Ben found it contagious. They sat there grinning stupidly at each other until he finally asked, “What?”

“You!” Hux pointed his index finger even as he held his glass firmly with his others. “I never thought you’d beat me to the altar, you old dog!”

Ben felt his cheeks reddening from embarrassment and looked at his empty glass with a shrug. His friend was right, as usual. If someone had bet him a year ago he’d be thinking of proposing to a girl who had threatened to ruin him, he’d have doubled down in favor of himself. 

“Can I tell Phas?” Hux dipped his head to catch Ben’s eyes. “You know she loves weddings even though she says she doesn’t believe in marriage? Isn’t that nuts?”

“Not yet,” Ben rose and proceeded to his desk. “Let’s make sure she says ‘yes’ first!”

* * *

_ February 28, 1965 _

Being president meant working long hours on most days and longer hours on odd days, and this Saturday was no exception. At the hour when most people might be getting ready for an evening out at the symphony or heading to friends’ for a dinner party, Ben was seated at his desk drafting a speech for the upcoming St. Patrick’s celebration in Boston. 

A gentle knock came at the door of the office and he got up to answer it himself.

His father stood outside with the nighttime staff manager, overcoat still covering his shoulders. 

“Hey, Dad,” Ben smiled and ushered him into the office. “Thanks, Bob.”

“Would you look at this place?” Han turned a slow circle in the middle as he took in the room. 

“Glad you could make it down,” Ben replied and joined his father to admire the office.

The two men stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments before Han looked at him expectantly. 

“So you wanted to see me… in person?” 

“Walk with me,” Ben suggested. The men exited the doorway to the colonnade and strolled slowly along the end of the building. An evening storm brought sleet and he was glad of the cover over the walkway. The roses in the Rose Garden were covered with a glassy slick of ice.

“How have you been, Dad?”

Han waved his hand dismissively. “You didn’t ask me down here to talk about my arthritis, did you? There’s something bigger on your mind.”

Ben clasped his fingers behind his back. “It’s Rey.”

At her name, his father’s brow immediately furrowed and his finger automatically went up in admonition. “Did you break up with her? Ben, she’s the best thing to happen to y--”

“No, I’m planning to propose!” Ben stopped and turned towards Han. “We haven’t broken up...” He trailed off and wondered how best to characterize their relationship of late. “But it’s hard right now.”

The anger drained from Han’s face just as quickly as it brewed and was replaced by a look of sympathetic understanding that slid to a controlled excitement. 

“Ben, marriage is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do,” Han grasped his son’s forearm in a vicelike grip. “I can’t tell you the number of times you’ll wake up wishing you never met her, but I promise you, there’ll be more when you wake up realizing she’s the only thing making life worth living.”

Ben placed his hand over his father’s and squeezed. He’d been taller than Han since he was fifteen and he often found it hard to see himself in the man who had been absent so often through his teen years. Han had often remarked, “You’re your mothers son,” which left him feeling even more estranged, wondering what he had to do to earn his father’s affection.

“You think I’m doing the right thing?” Ben asked this softly. “I know it’s really soon.”

Han’s smile seemed wistful. “Sometimes we don’t get a lot of time,” he replied. “You have to trust your gut.”

If there was one thing Ben regretted from his campaign, it was the fact that it had left so little time with Han after his mother’s death. The unexpected effect of bringing him and Rey together had been a necessary distraction from his own grief, but his father had been left to sit with it mostly alone. 

“Guess that explains why you asked for this,” Han produced a small box from his jacket pocket. “It’s not the original box— she never took it off so she never had one.” 

Ben released Han to accept it and flipped open the velvet with a flick of his thumb. It smelled like his mother’s perfume but the ring, Padmé’s beloved ring, was just as he remembered: three amethysts sat across the top of the silver band, the center stone surrounded by the tiniest diamond chips. Even in the dull, late afternoon winter sunlight, they reflected brightly around the purple stones. 

“I remember,” Ben breathed, recalling how his grandmother only took off the ring when she gardened to place it on a chain around her neck. “You’re sure about this?” 

“Your mother insisted on keeping it when Padmé passed,” Han nodded. “Thought you might want it someday.” 

Ben brushed his thumb gently over the stones. As a boy it had fascinated him how the center stone had a red streak in it visible in certain lights. Padmé had explained patiently that one needed both blue and red to make purple, holding the ring up to the window to reveal the cool blue hues that could be seen from other angles. It was the reason Ben had chosen a deep purple for the curtains in his office as well: not for its royal connotations, but because of what the color represented. 

The coming together of two individual things that combined to make a new whole. 

“She was right,” Ben said as he shut the box. “Thanks for coming down. You wanna get some dinner?”

Han looked almost sheepish to be asked and gestured with his thumb back towards the building. “Here, or…?”

“Yeah, here. Thought I’d invite you over dinner.” Ben smiled. “This place makes an okay steak.”

The men walked back into the Oval Office in silence before Han cleared his throat to speak. As though he was trying to sound casual, he remarked, “I’ve been thinking it might be time to let the beach house go.”

Ben hesitated, removing his overcoat and slinging it over his desk chair before answering. The clearest picture of Rey standing on the stairs of the house in her party dress flashed in his mind’s eye. Then of how she’d looked, standing in front of him full of righteous anger over her missing novel. 

It was the moment he realized he loved her. 

“Oh?” He hoped he sounded noncommittal but his stomach churned at the thought of losing the place.

Han shrugged. “Seems like a lot without your mom around. You’ve barely been there, except for a few weeks ago and last summer, and I don’t feel like being there.”

“Sorry about that,” Ben apologized again. “I should’ve warned you we were going to be there.” 

“Nah,” Han waved him away. “I know how it gets.”

They proceeded towards the residence before Ben suggested, “What’s the harm in hanging onto the place for now? We’ve got a lot of memories tied up there.”

As soon as he uttered the words, he realized his father’s recent memories there probably had a very different cast than his own. The beach house had been Leia’s special place but Han was less enamored of the high society it represented. 

“And… I know it means a lot to Rey,” he continued nevertheless. Han’s eyebrow quirked at her name and Ben knew he had picked the right tack to take. The two of them had bonded easily, so much so that Ben had initially felt a prick of jealousy at her comfortable rapport that he struggled to find with his own father. “It means a lot to us as a couple,” he clarified, thinking again of her at his mother’s garden party. 

“That so?” Han’s lips creased in consideration of the information. “I didn’t realize that. Makes sense though, with her folks gone.”

Han rarely spoke of his childhood, but Ben knew his father’s time in an orphanage colored his view of Rey, making her way alone in the world after her parents had passed away.

“Besides, you know how Mother loved it.” It felt like a manipulation to bring up Leia now, but he could see Han was wavering. 

“She did,” Han conceded. “You’re right, it’s too soon to make a decision like that. You kids might end up there, when all this--” Han gestured to the house around them. “--is done.” 

“We might,” Ben agreed, backing through the kitchen door. “So, how do you like your steak?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This article](https://www.thedailymeal.com/entertain/secrets-white-house-kitchen-slideshow) has some interesting tidbits about the [White House kitchen](http://www.whitehousemuseum.org/floor0/kitchen.htm)! For example, I didn't know that the chefs don't necessarily change with the President, or that the pantry is cleaned out on Inauguration Day and restocked with the new President's preferred items. Fascinating! 
> 
> ... who am I kidding, no one cares about the White House (in)accuracies in this chapter! Tawk amongst yaselves or hmu on Tumblr @theafterglow-writes. Happy Thanksgiving to US readers!


	3. Hope

_ March 5, 1965 _

Ben glanced at the clock above the mantle again as he drew a sweater over his head, combed his hair back into place and tightened his wristwatch. His overcoat held the small velvet box and he brushed his fingers over it as he rode the elevator to the garage. 

Their date was a surprise and he had detected a hint of frustration from Rey when he’d deflected her questions.

“How do I know what to wear if I don’t know where we’re going?” 

“Wear clothes,” he’d answered impishly. “People will talk if you go naked.” 

“People will talk no matter what I wear,” she replied tartly. 

They pulled up outside her building and he waited as her men escorted her to the car. The sunset was fading quickly and a few stars began to twinkle in the black night sky, clear and cold over the lights of Washington. 

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Wexley greeted him as he opened the door for Rey. “Nice night tonight.”

“Snap,” Ben nodded in return, reaching for Rey’s hand to steady her as she climbed in beside him. “Hi, there.”

Their eyes met for a split second before she turned away to settle in the seat next to him and his heart quickened with anticipation. Nothing had been left to chance, but he hoped it was a surprise to her. 

“Hi,” she turned her face up and he gave her a lingering kiss. “So where are we going?”

“You’ll see, Miss Impatient,” Ben smiled at her frown. “You look nice.” 

Rey’s eyes flicked down as she smoothed her skirt over her legs and he could tell she was a touch embarrassed by his compliment. 

“So do you,” she offered. “How was your day?”

“Long, but good,” Ben summarized with a shrug. “Yours?”

Rey blew a lungful of air up into her bangs. “Just long.”

He decided not to touch that and gazed out the tinted window as the lights of the avenue slid by. In another time, a nicer time of year, they might have walked to their destination but the weather confined them to automobiles this time of year. 

“Are we going to one of the museums?” Rey asked. “Aren’t they already closed for the evening?”

Ben smiled gently. “Not for us.”

Rey grinned wickedly at this. “Are you abusing your power already, Mr. President?”

“Only for your benefit,” he shot back.

The rest of their short ride passed in silence and he stole glances at her profile as she gazed out on the city. Even in the relatively short time he’d known her, he wondered at how it felt like he had known her his entire life. She saw through him in a way that he had initially resented but come to rely on to guide him; without being rude, she was someone who corrected him when he began to give in to his basest instincts. Still, it was quick and she was young and Ben drew a long breath to steady himself that yes, he was doing the right thing. 

The head curator met them inside the staff entrance of the museum and Ben trailed along behind them, admiring how deftly Rey set to asking questions of the man in charge of the nation’s gemstone exhibit. She turned the conversation immediately from herself to asking after his work and the museum’s purpose. Clad in a burgundy sweater and with two pairs of jeweler’s glasses dangling from a chain on his neck, Bernard Edelman had been the lead gemstone curator of the Museum of Natural History since roughly the year Rey was born. He had seen famous stones come and go, traveled the world in search of specimens, rubbed elbows with royalty and high society alike, all in search of the next perfect rock to round out the collection. Ben was loosely acquainted with the man through his mother’s charity work at the hospital, but this was the first time he had seen him in his element, surrounded by the precious stones. 

“You’ve come at a wonderful time,” Mr. Edelman clasped his gnarled hands. “Our best piece is about to travel but you got here before it went in its box to ship to South Africa.” 

Rey’s eyes widened and she glanced at Ben with genuine excitement. “Really? The Hope Diamond?”

The curator’s eyes practically disappeared behind his regular glasses as his face collapsed in a show of controlled delight. “The same! Mr. Winston’s present is still here for few weeks but it’s already off display back in our workroom. Come in!”

Rey turned backwards a step and mouthed _ Oh my God _ at him before diligently following Mr. Edelman to a table where several velvet-lined show boxes had been laid out for them. They held all manners of stones in various states of refinement, uncut geodes to partially-tumbled gemstones to polished, cut diamonds glittering under the lighting focused on the table. Ben smiled at her unchecked excitement and rubbed his thumb over the box in his pocket. He’d declined to let the coat check hold it for him, lying that he was feeling cold. 

“Look at them,” Rey breathed in a show of genuine admiration. “Isn’t it amazing that anyone ever knew to cut them open?”

Mr. Edelman was utterly in his element: part educator, part admirer, yet in full command of the show for his important guests. 

“I say the same every time I eat a tomato,” he agreed. “But look at the results! Nature was showing off when she made these.”

He handed Rey a sizeable uncut rock to test its weight in her hand before elaborating on the process by which stones were refined to a saleable product. She turned it over several times as she listened, smoothing her palm over its rough surface as though holding a baby chick. Ben idled behind her and peeked over her shoulder at the examples in their cases.

“Now, can you imagine the size of the rock that this must’ve once been?” Mr. Edelman beamed as he cracked open a nondescript box at the end of the table. 

Rey gasped to see it: the Hope diamond reflected decidedly blue-grey even in the workroom lighting, nestled on a bed of black velvet and surrounded by what looked like hundreds of white diamonds in its setting. It was hardly a style Rey seemed to favor but Ben had to admit, the stone was a sight to behold. 

“Look at it,” Rey whispered, her hands clutched to her chest. “Can you imagine wearing that?”

Mr. Edelman chuckled and he was clearly delighted in Rey’s awe. “It’s a bit unfashionable these days to wear such a flashy piece--but it is a sight, isn’t it?” 

“It’s something,” Ben murmured, leaning on the back of Rey’s chair to admire it in detail. 

“If you like that, let me bring out a few more things from the catalog that are more… well, I don’t want to say average because none of these are average, but you get my drift,” Mr. Edelman lifted his eyes to meet Ben’s and gave an imperceptible nod. He disappeared into the back room, closing the door behind him. 

Ben straightened up and he was embarrassed to find his palms sweating as he removed his overcoat to place it over the empty chair beside her. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, he knelt on one knee and opened the box. 

“Rey, did you see this one back here?” 

“Which one?” She sounded distracted, still gazing at the Hope diamond.

“This one,” he repeated and his heart pounded as she slowly twisted back to face him.

“Ben, why are you—” Her question broke off as her eyes slid down to the jewelry box he held open in front of him. “What is that?”

Her hand went over her mouth as she realized what was happening. 

“Rey,” he began. “This ring belonged to my grandmother, and my mom kept it for me when Padme passed away. I want to ask if you’ll do me the honor of wearing it… as my fiancé.”

Rey recovered from her shock enough to rise from her chair even though she still clasped her fingers together in front of her lips. Her eyes darted between the ring and his eyes several times before she finally spoke. 

“You want to get married? To me?” 

Ben’s knee was beginning to ache where it dug into the low-pile carpet beneath him and he couldn’t resist teasing. 

“Well, I was planning to ask Bernard, but he left.”

Her musical laugh broke the tension and she sank to her knees in front of him to hold out her hand. 

“Yes,” she nodded fervently. “I will--or I do? Let’s do it? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say!” Nervous laughter overcame her and she wiped away a tear from her eye with her free hand. 

“Here,” He grasped her fingers lightly to steady them as he slid the ring down her finger. It hitched for a moment at her joint but then cooperated, coming to rest on at her knuckle. 

“Look at it,” Rey held up her hand to admire it. “It’s beautiful, Ben.”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied and leaned forward to kiss her. “And thank you. I know it probably seems soon and we haven’t been together that long, but--”

“Ben,” she interrupted him. “Stop apologizing. I love you, I love it, I love--”

Her statement was interrupted by the workroom door opening and Mr. Edelman poking his head through. 

“Well? Is it safe?”

“Come in, yes --she said yes!” Ben cried, helping her to her feet. 

The curator beamed as proudly as if he were their own father. “Mazel tov, you kids! Err--Mr. President! Congratulations, this is a first for the gemstone department to have a proposal here at work!”

Ben pumped the man’s hand from across the table. “Thanks again for letting us come over like this.”

“Yes, thank you,” Rey added. “It means the world, Mr. Edelman. The collection is fascinating.”

“You know where to send my invitation,” the elder man smiled mischievously. “And I’d better get a plus one.”

* * *

Rey could not stop looking at her hand. She hid it from herself under the edge of her thigh as they rode towards her place only to wiggle it out and peek at it once more as if it might have disappeared just because she wasn’t looking. The stones shone on her finger even in the low light of the back of the limo. Three perfect amethyst ovals sat across it, the largest in the center, surrounded by a slew of tiny diamond chips. The setting was silver with delicate scrolling down the sides where the band wrapped around her finger. She had never seen another ring like it.

“You like it?” Ben seemed shy now, unsure of her sincerity, and she pulled him into a kiss to soothe his doubts. 

“It’s perfect,” she repeated. “How did you know it would fit?”

He looked bashful. “I didn’t. I borrowed one of your other rings and had a jeweler size it, but it was a lucky guess since you don’t normally wear a ring on that finger.”

“You noticed that?” Rey was astonished. She hadn’t even realized a piece of her jewelry was missing and it seemed to her like such a minor detail. He was incredibly busy and yet he’d found time to figure out this? 

He shrugged as though it were no big deal. “Sure.” 

“Who else knows about this?” She waggled her hand at him. “Will the press corps be waiting when we get back to my place?”

“No,” Ben scoffed before turning serious. “Well, Han knows, since he had Grandmother’s ring, the jeweler probably has his suspicions, and of course--”

“--Hux.” She chimed in so they said his name in stereo. “That’s not too many people... yet.”

“I figured we could enjoy it for a moment for ourselves,” Ben nodded as he grasped her fingers, looking at his handiwork. “It’s nice to have secrets, sometimes.” 

Rey was quiet for a moment in contemplation. Who did she even want to tell? And how? Or when? She tried to picture her friends’ faces as she broke the news. Hopefully she would get to share it in person, but she knew that was likely a pipe dream.

Phasma likely already knew if Hux did and Midge was just a short train ride away. She could make it up to the city this weekend--maybe the Bard girls could come down? Brunch on Sunday--a proper, boozy New York brunch with bagels and lox and champagne. 

Rose would be thrilled, no doubt, but Rey’s jubilant mood cooled again picturing Connix and Finn’s reactions. Her vow to her friends before graduation flashed through her mind.

_ The circle of young women dutifully placed their palms on Rey’s. She closed her eyes and intoned, “Promise me you’ll never forget the good times we’ve had here. Promise me you’ll never settle or become nice young women or let anyone tell us we can’t because we’re women.” _

Rey pushed her feelings down and forced herself to smile at Ben. There would be plenty of time to figure these things out, and she wanted to enjoy this moment here and now with him. 

“You okay?” Ben caressed the line of her jaw with his thumb. “I’m not trying to keep you a secret.” 

“Sorry,” Rey shook her head. “I know you aren’t. It’s so much to think through--how to tell our friends, and then planning--”

Ben’s thumb pressed her lips into silence. “We’ll figure it out together. Let’s just enjoy this now, alright?”

His lips replace his thumb and Rey closed her eyes. Ben’s hand came to rest on her lap, warm and heavy, and she encircled his wrist with her free hand. She moved it up until it came to rest at the junction of her thighs and she shivered as he curled his fingers against her through her dress. Heat began to build until she bucked against him gently. 

“Are you busy tonight?” He murmured this against her lips but she knew he didn’t expect an answer. 

He broke off their kiss with a huff to look out his window. She could see by how his chest unsteadily rose and fell a few times that he was trying to calm himself. She smoothed her palms down her thighs to rearrange the material of her skirt from where it had bunched under his hand. It made her shiver with anticipation for their arrival at home. 

“Can you stay tonight?” Rey replied with her own question even though she already knew the answer. 

“Just this evening,” Ben still gazed out his side as though he hadn’t just worked her into such a state. 

Rey held her breath as the limo slowed to turn onto her street, a narrow side street that could barely fit a single car down it when everyone was home for the evening and parked along the curbs. She had quickly grown to love this apartment despite the limited time she’d spent in it, having just let it after Ben had taken office to be closer to him. It felt the most like a home of any place she’d had since--

“Miss Rey’s apartment,” their driver interrupted her thoughts by announcing their destination through a crack in the bulletproof glass that separated him from them. 

“Thanks,” Ben replied. “I’ll be escorting Miss Rey up to her place. Might stay for a drink.”

Their driver chuckled. “Ten-four, Mr. President. Ten-four!”

Their progress up her stairs was impeded when she allowed him to press her first against the bannister, then into a corner on the landing until they were interrupted by the sound of a neighbor’s door opening above them and they leapt apart to smooth their rumpled clothing. Her apartment door had a stubborn lock and it took Ben’s cursing and shaking it to break it open for them to stumble through. 

They stumbled towards her room but a light shove from her towards the couch was all it took for him to take the hint. 

She took her time with the belt on her winter overcoat, drawing out the moment and memorizing the hungry way he looked up at her. Their recent encounters had been far too few and taken on a rough, hurried edge that made her desperate when she recalled them later. He reached for the back of her thighs and her breath caught when she saw how his face changed when his fingertips reached the garters of her stockings.

“You thought ahead,” Ben breathed. “Clever girl.” His knuckles brushed the material of her undergarments once, twice before he pushed them unceremoniously to one side and drew her down to kneel over him. 

“I didn’t know--” she punctuated her reply with kisses, “--what you-- had planned!”

“You should’ve known to plan--” His manhood parted her swollen lips and his arm around her waist pulled her down against him without warning, “--on this!” 

Rey hissed and tugged at the lapels of his winter coat, still cold from outside. It was too much; she ached with fullness and the indelicate way he handled her now worked her up in an instant.

“Oh, no, I’m gonna--” Her head lolled back and she panted open-mouthed as her body convulsed around him. 

Ben set his teeth and she could see him struggle for a moment against following her, but it was already too late. Her palms went to his cheeks and her forehead against his as he bucked up to meet her once, twice, a third ragged time before collapsing back against the couch with his pupils blown. His hand left her hip to brush her hair back from her face where it had come loose and she sagged against him, head resting on his shoulder. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I know,” came her reply as she stared at the painting of a tall ship sailing a stormy sea at the end of her living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wikipedia & the Smithsonian's website, [the Hope Diamond](https://www.si.edu/spotlight/hope-diamond/history) went on loan to South Africa in 1965. Thanks to my cousin S. who came up with this "propose at the gemstone exhibit" scheme and real life for supplying this crazy detail that fit right in! 
> 
> [Amethysts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amethyst#Value) were considered one of the most precious gemstones in the world until discoveries of large deposits devalued them considerably. 
> 
> After a couple comments I realized no one probably remembers that Ben had [a paint-by-number of a tall ship sailing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083872/chapters/34931996) in his apartment that Hux gifted him way back in Chapter 14 of If Not Us. Sorry to throw you off!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and now comes the fun... wedding planning.


	4. The Interview

_ April 13, 1964 _

Rey never knew there were so many shades of colors in her life. Shades of pink ranging from practically white to the color of Pepto-Bismal. Shades of grey ranging from dirty white to nearly black. Yellow-greens to red-purples to brownish-blacks. 

“And this one,” the designer produced another yellowish swatch from his case with a flourish. “This would look stunning on your tall bridesmaid.” He threw a cautious glance at Phasma where she lounged on an overstuffed chaise.

“That looks like the color of my nanna’s old curtains after they hung in the Nebraska sun for forty years,” Phasma said flatly. “I can’t tell if it’s white or yellow or cream? But of course it’s whatever the bride wants,” she threw a stage wink in Rey’s direction.

“Well, I think they’re all great,” Rose gushed enthusiastically, whether out of sincerity or mere diplomacy, Rey wasn’t sure. She in turn glanced at Phasma, waiting to be cut down, but when no retort came, she continued, “But Phasma’s right, that shade is not going to be flattering on her skin. Maybe something a bit darker?”

The designer folded the tiny piece of fabric back into the case with a deep sigh and trained his gaze on her, and her alone. “And what do we think, Miss Rey?”

His vision for the wedding was bridesmaids in rainbow pastel shades, but Rey was not as convinced of this look. She’d attended more funerals than weddings in her young life, and her initial suggestion had been black on the bridesmaids- a black-and-white wedding. 

“In spring?” The man looked stricken. “Oh, no, no no-- perhaps if this was a winter white-tie affair, but this? This is… This is May! Imagine the Derby! Memorial Day! Greens and yellows and pinks must find their way into our palette.”

Well, she was the first of her friends to marry and had no template in mind for what a wedding should look like. 

Let alone a wedding that was a giant affair of state with guests ranging from family to Congressmen to dignitaries and even--Rey swallowed again at the thought-- sitting royalty from other countries. She felt like Cinderella considering the reception ball, hoping she wouldn’t wake up to find she was seated on a pumpkin surrounded by field mice in her parents’ garden upstate.

Rey pursed her lips to the side, imagining Ben in any of these accent colors. He was not an adventurous dresser, and why would he be? Menswear was classic, simple, and frankly… boring.  But even a pocket scarf, a cumberbund or a bow tie in some pastel color would look--

“Rey?” Rose placed her hand on Rey’s forearm. “Do you have a preference?”

Rey took a generous sip of champagne before answering. “Grey. It's a mix of black and white, which is what I originally wanted.” She looked pointedly at the designer, who suddenly found his measurement book very interesting. “It will go well with any flowers we pick, and we can have the spring colors in--”

“In the bouquets and arrangements!” He perked up suddenly and said this as though it had been his idea all along. “That’s a wonderful compromise, Miss Rey. I think it will look classic and modern at the same time.”

“Hallelujah,” Phasma’s sarcasm was overwhelming and she stood to stretch to her full height. With her arms overhead, her fingertips nearly reached the ceiling and Rey smiled to imagine her next to the likes of Rose and Paige at the altar. They’d need to arrange by height order to avoid it looking odd. Luckily Hux was also in the wedding party and could walk down the aisle with Phasma. Not all of Ben’s groomsmen were so blessed in the height department. 

“Now, we have the small matter of  _ your _ dress to settle,” the designer continued and produced a lookbook from his satchel. “Of course it will be handmade, and of course you’ll want to pick an American designer’s pattern, but luckily we have so much talent here it’ll be a difficult choice.”

Rose’s brow furrowed. “Why can’t it be a French designer, if that’s what Rey wants? It’s her wedding!” 

Rey answered before the man could. 

“Because it’s everyone’s wedding, and we need to showcase American artisans.” She knew this was the correct answer, even if it felt like someone else’s words coming out of her mouth as she said them. “There’s plenty of opportunity to showcase other countries’ work in accessories-- shoes or the veil or a bag. But the dress needs to be American.”

Rose looked crestfallen for a moment before her lips pressed into a line and pulled the heavy, oversized book from the man’s hands without asking. “Well, then we’re going to find you the best looking American dress we can, aren’t we?”

“ Perhaps you could give us a moment?” Phasma trained her glare on the designer. He was whippet-thin man of average height and Phas towered nearly a head taller than him. 

“Of course,” he shot up from his chair. “I’ll just go get some--”

“Thank you!” Phasma cut him off by closing the door between them. “Good lord,” she muttered under her breath. 

Rey was looking at the book upside down in Rose’s hands when she realized no one had spoken and that Rose was peering at her.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?!” Rose scowled now. “He’s awful and he’s not listening to you one bit! You said you wanted black and white, and he suggests pink? Pink is for a baby shower, not a wedding! And you haven’t even looked at a single dress and he says it has to be an American designer--”

“It has to be an American designer,” Phasma and Rey recited in unison before Rey gently lifted the book from her friend’s lap.

Rey spoke slowly as she flipped through the first few and marked a couple designs by folding the corner of the page. “This isn’t like a normal wedding. There’s very little we actually have control over, and it’s going to be a public affair. There will be people there from all over the world there, other countries’ governments and royal families, and we have to think of the message everything sends--from where guests are seated to the color of flowers to the maker of my dress. Ben talked a lot during his campaign about the strength of American industry, and that’s everything from farming to pharmaceuticals to… fashion.” 

She glanced up at Rose and notice a smile hovering on her friend’s lips. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I went into campaign mode there for a moment.”

“No,” Rose smiled now, “It’s just still so weird to hear you call the president by his first name!”

“ Well , I hate to guess what Rey calls him when we’re not around,” Phasma chuckled and Rose’s cheeks flushed at the insinuation. 

“This one’s pretty,” Rey ignored her friend’s teasing to point to a simple gown. “It has a classic look to it.”

The three of them considered the design for a moment before Rey turned the page. 

“But so is that one,” Rose breathed, tracing her finger over the lines of the drawing of the next. “I don’t know how you’re ever going to pick!”

Rey gazed slightly above the book at the floor, considering how one ever picked anything. Her life’s path in the last year had so many twists and unexpected turns in it, she was hard pressed to unravel it in a way that didn’t lead to her sitting here, picking out wedding dresses. 

To become First Lady of the United States. 

Moments flashed through her mind’s eye: sitting on Holdo’s couch in her office. Going to Ben’s room at his parents’ house. The look he had given her when she glanced back at him the moment after he’d fired her. His unexpected peace offering of her background file, followed by the heartbreak of receiving her birth mother’s letter of rejection. 

“Earth to Rey,” Phasma shook her hand gently. “Breathe. Do you want a break?”

“Sorry,” Rey breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I need to focus.”

“Mmmm, I think you need more champagne,” Phasma said sagely and drained the bottle into Rey’s flute. “And maybe some food.” 

“Should we tell Commander Crankypants we’re done for now?” Rose narrowed her eyes at the closed door as though the designer could feel her scorn through the heavy wood panels.

“Please,” Rey gave in to peer pressure. 

* * *

_ April 20, 1964 _

_ Washington, DC _

“She’s looking shiny already. Can you fix that?”

“She’s  _ glowing _ , not shining.” 

“Most people are still watching in black-and-white-- it’s gonna look shiny, not dewy.”

Rey dared peek out at the men standing over her. The make-up artist and a producer, one whose name she’d promptly forgotten amidst a sea of production assistants swarming the house, hovered over her to peer at her face… her apparently  _ sweaty _ face. False eyelashes framed her eyes and made them feel heavy, as though she’d woken from a long night without cleaning away her mascara. 

Rey cleared her throat gently and the two straightened up in surprise, almost as if they’d forgotten she was alive and could hear them. 

“It is rather warm in here with all the lights,” she suggested. “Perhaps we could open a window and get some fresh air?”

The producer--Milton, she recalled--glanced around them nervously. “I… I don’t-- let me check with someone on that and get back to you.”

With that he was away as soon as he’d appeared, and the makeup person silently produced a tissue-thin sheet of rice paper from his case and placed it gently on her nose.

“Trust me, you’re  _ glowing _ sweetheart,” he murmured. “All of this--” He stood back to gesture with an open palm at her person. “Is working for you. Don’t worry about looking young. People would kill to be you right now, and don’t you forget it. Keep telling yourself, ‘Everybody wants to be me, or do me!’”

“Thank you,” Rey whispered as he whisked the blotting paper from her face. 

She only hoped she would not forget her part of the script. Rey shuffled the cue cards in her hand once more, rereading the historical notes about the White House that she had yet to fully memorize. This special had been Ben’s press officer’s idea and was hatched almost the moment their engagement was announced. It was clear to her the officer made no distinction between print and television journalism and thought that Rey would be delighted at the opportunity to make a public appearance before the wedding. 

“You’re a journalist,” he coaxed her. “Aren’t you curious about the White House’s past? Well, so is everybody else. It’ll be amazing-- a chance to bridge the gap between Washington and regular people. They’ll love you!”

Rey frowned at her notes, the details swimming in front of her eyes. Which country had gifted this painting, that end table or rug, the administrations who’d added onto the White House in significant ways all blurred together and she realized she was staring at the floor, unseeing, when a pair of familiar dress shoes appeared in her line of sight.

“Hey kid.” A familiar voice caused her to lift her eyes and she smiled to see Ben standing in front of her.

Or… her fiancé flanked by Hux and a half-dozen other men in suits whom she didn’t recognize. All of them carried leather-bound binders and looked varying shades of terminally serious. A few pursed burning cigarettes between their lips and used the pause in their progress to exhale small clouds of smoke.

“Good morning,” she replied as she straightened up in her director’s chair and gave a halfhearted wave at the men. 

“Gentlemen, Mr. Hux will show you to the West Wing,” Ben dismissed them without looking their direction. “I’ll be along in just a moment.”

“Break a leg, Rey!” Hux turned on his heel with a mock salute and corralled the visitors like a park ranger herding school children. “We’re headed to our left, down the hallway. Mind the cords, they’re not taped down!”

“Who are those people?” Rey asked once they were out of earshot.

“A barrel of laughs,” Ben deadpanned before a small smile quirked his mouth. “How are you doing with all this?”

Rey gave a mock pout before rising. “Fine. Apparently I look shiny.” 

A silent chuckle shook Ben’s shoulders. “They’ll put makeup on you until you look dead in person, but it’ll look fine on camera. Trust me.” 

Rey eyed him suspiciously before repeating her mantra aloud. “Everyone wants to be me, or do me.”

Ben’s sudden burst of laughter turned a few nearby heads and before she could react, he leaned in to plant an indiscreet kiss on her lips. “That’s the truest thing I’ve heard all week. You’ll be great.” 

And with that, he was off down the hall after the group. Rey smiled at Ben’s back to avoid the stares of the crew in the immediate vicinity. 

“Oh, my goodness,” the make-up artist swooped in to assess any damage done to his work. “You’re gonna need a touch up, Miss Rey. Please sit down again.”

She eased back into her chair and allowed the man to blot and reapply lipstick to her sullied mouth. Her eyes traced the decorative plasterwork around the ceiling of the library as she rehearsed her lines. 

They would begin in the Residence’s library, proceed down the center hallway and show off the lesser-known parts of the ground floor of the building. The producers reasoned most Americans had at least seen photos of the State floor, used for entertaining and diplomatic functions, but who knew there was a chocolatier or an entire room of refrigerators? A bowling alley? They would make a full loop of the floor and return to the Vermeil Room where they’d take a seat for a longer interview amongst the portraits of former First Ladies. 

This interview, more than remembering the historical details of the house she didn’t yet live in, had butterflies rising in her middle. Like her tour, this interview was semi-scripted and designed to introduce and promote her agenda as soon-to-be First Lady. 

First, literacy. That was a safe, uncontroversial topic for a former journalist. No one could argue with literacy efforts and it crossed demographic lines nicely. 

Education was a slightly touchier subject with Ben’s February veto of the Choice in Education Act, but his advisors felt confident that a strong showing by Rey in favor of improving educational standards throughout the country would improve opinions of him on this matter. 

Finally, improving healthcare for women and infants. This was meant to be a phased campaign, focusing first on the poorer, rural parts of America whose care lagged behind the more affluent, developed ones, then broadening to include those in need abroad. It dovetailed nicely with Ben’s campaign proposal of an international civil service body, and also with what the public had conveniently assumed about the reason for her own adoption. Somehow the press had taken up the notion that her birth parents were dead and no one inside the administration had contradicted that falsehood.

But this would no doubt lead into the inevitable questions about plans for their own family, and Rey sighed deeply against the tide of nerves mounting in her. In truth, she and Ben had barely discussed this yet, and she intended to strike a vague note around the topic. She would go back to details about the wedding that had yet to be revealed to throw the spotlight back off their family plans. 

The designer she’d picked for her dress was a young American man, well-known in some circles but unheard-of by most of the public. It had been a controversial choice in that his expertise thus far was in millinery rather than garments, but the sketches he submitted had been modern, elegant and terribly flattering on her figure. He eschewed lace and beading in favor of draped fabric that both hugged her figure and modestly hinted at it. Wearing his fitting model made her feel like a Greek goddess and her ladies had agreed, hands-down, that it was the best choice. 

She was only concerned with pronouncing his name correctly on camera, a one-word moniker whose vowels did not agree in her mind with how it looked on paper. She said it under her breath several times, then murmured it aloud at a volume only she could--

“Miss Rey, we’re ready for you.” The producer spoke over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Rey replied and rose from her seat.

* * *

_ May 5, 1965 _

“Halston?” Ben repeated the name exactly as she’d been instructed was incorrect: rhyming with  _ fall _ rather than  _ pal _ . “Who is that?”

“He’s newer,” Rey shrugged. “I guess he’s been the milliner at Bergdorf’s for awhile but is moving into clothing, and his design was divine.”

Ben broke his gaze at her special on the television set to smile at her. “You’re divine,” he teased. “You’ll look good no matter what you wear.”

Rey flushed and scrubbed her toes into the pile of the Oriental rug beneath the couch. It was the Sunday after the Kentucky Derby, the first Sunday in May and less than two weeks before their wedding. She hated the sound of her own voice issuing from the TV but Ben insisted they watch--everyone else would be, he reasoned--and so she perched beside him on the couch in the Residence to view her televised coming-out party.

“As you can see,” the narrator intoned, “Miss Rey is already at home in the White House and looking forward to her duties when she becomes First Lady Solo. We’ll tune in again on May 20 to see her wed President Solo at the Washington National Cathedral in a unique, multi-denominational ceremony. Until then, this is Robert Katz from WJLA wishing you and your family a good night!”

“You did great!” Ben exclaimed. “That was wonderful, I don’t know what you were so nervous about!”

“Easy for you to say,” Rey elbowed him gently. “You haven’t had to talk about the wedding at all yet!”

“That’s not true,” Ben scoffed. “I’m talking about it right now.”

To their surprise, it had been Hux who had saved them from the question of what kind of service to have. Just as the public had begun to express concern that Ben might convert to Catholicism for her and America would be beholden to the Vatican, Hux suggested inviting a well-respected leader from each of the country’s major religions to create a ceremony that wove together wisdom and teaching on marriage from all of them. Rey imagined the planning meetings being something like a priest and rabbi joke, but she embraced the idea of their wedding reflecting the cultures that made up the fabric of America. Even as Hux despised the heady mixing of church and state Americans loved to preach against but continued to indulge in, he was proud of his compromise.

“If everyone’s included, no one can complain, can they?” Ben’s advisors had looked wary but knew better than to contradict the wiry ginger, especially when none of them had a better solution. 

Ben stood to switch off the set and stretched his arms overhead. A small groan escaped him before he shook his head against it. He was as informal as he ever got: his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled, still wearing slacks and dark socks. His tie he had slung over the armchair in the sitting area when they’d retired to his living area, but it was ready at a moment’s notice in case duty called. 

The President’s quarters in the Residence were decorated more informally than the lower, public floors, and for the moment they had taken on a distinctly masculine, bachelor feel. A few boxes from her apartment had already been brought over but not yet unpacked with the rest scheduled to follow shortly after the wedding. 

To minimize the appearance of any impropriety, of course. 

“You staying, kid?” Ben asked but sounded resigned, knowing the answer she was required to give. 

It was a farce, really. Surely the electorate knew they were young people and not following the strict social norms expected of generations past. 

“Ben, did you… ” she began but trailed off, not knowing how to broach the matter that had nagged her for weeks since her security investigation. 

He drew close and she turned her eyes up when he traced the curve of her cheek with his long fingers. 

“Did I what?” His eyes were soft and he looked a touch amused. “What did I do now?” 

“Why didn’t you warn me about the investigation?”

Ben’s face fell at this but he continued cupping her face. “It’s just protocol by intelligence,” he shrugged. “I had to do it when I started in Congress, and again when I took office. Everybody does.”

“Protocol?!” Rey practically spit the word. “It’s protocol to be interrogated by your own government?” 

“Not if you  _ are _ the government, Rey,” Ben continued reasonably. He seemed unruffled by her outburst and Rey clenched her jaw against a sudden bolt of anger against him. 

She had warranted security detail since the day Ben took office, but their impending nuptials brought a whole new round of interviews, checks and even--she swallowed hard--a physical examination that seemed wholly too personal and unnecessary. The interviewer’s questions had veered towards accusations at points, returning over and over to information she had previously covered and even to things she had no way of knowing.

How long had her parents known one another? Her real parents, not her adoptive ones. Rey steadfastly insisted she had no idea, only to be told she was lying to protect her mother’s reputation. 

Whether she believed her adoptive parents had actually died? Perhaps they no longer wanted her and had staged their deaths. What kind of a question was that when she had watched each of them placed in the ground?

How old was she when she had lost her virginity? To a man, or a woman? Would she consider intercourse for pay? Or had she ever before?

“You know I’m not a spy,” Rey whispered. “You should’ve warned me.”

Ben sighed heavily and sat beside her again. “Rey, you know that breaks protocol, too. Look, I don’t want to fight. But this is part of this life, and I’m sorry we never talked about it, but it’s done now.”

Rey stared at him. He had relaxed back into the couch with his arm along the back, but she could tell by his breathing he was struggling to stay calm in the face of her accusations.

“Well, then  _ protocol _ dictates that I go home,” Rey snapped sarcastically. “If you don’t mind, Mr. President.”

“Fine,” Ben’s retort was clipped. “Go! I have work to do.”

“Fine,” she repeated, rising with her arms crossed. “I guess I’ll see you at the planning meeting on Wednesday.”

Ben glared up at her out of the tops of his eyes and gave a curt nod. “I’ll call the car. They should be waiting by the time you make it downstairs.”

“Thank you,” she managed. She wavered for a moment, thinking he might repent of this pigheaded sense of duty that sometimes overcame him, but when he didn’t she strode towards the door without looking back. 

She made it all the way downstairs and into the car before she allowed a tear to slide from her eye. Dabbing it gently with a handkerchief, she crossed her legs and clutched the damp material tight in her palm. 

They pulled to the curb fifteen minutes later and Wexley kept the car idling for a moment before turning it off. He lingered behind the wheel before twisting back with his arm across the seat. 

“Everything okay, Miss?” 

Rey’s lip quivered as she stared blindly out the passenger window. 

“Snap,” she asked. “I can’t believe I never asked but--are you married?”

It was embarrassing how little she knew about the men and women that surrounded them on a daily basis, and she felt ashamed for not asking before now. She had been instructed not to get close with her security agents lest it compromise them, or her, in a dangerous situation, but she felt a particular affinity the man who headed her team and whom she saw most often. She had followed protocol and addressed him as Agent Wexley, but he had asked her to call him by his nickname in short order. 

Wexley’s face slowly transformed into ear-to-ear grin that lit up his round face. “Yes, Miss, I sure am. Seven years and three kids in the suck for me. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“No?” Rey turned to face him fully. “You never have doubts?”

“Oh, I’m not saying that,” Wexley’s chuckle shifted his bulk. “I think our wedding day was the day I loved her the  _ least _ , if you can believe that. But everyone has doubts. Totally normal!”

Rey rearranged the damp handkerchief in her palm a few times and exhaled the breath she had been holding in several heaving sighs. She could tell Wexley was studying her, trying to decide if he should ask more questions or leave well enough alone. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Walk me up?”

“You got it, Miss Rey.” Wexley was already out and halfway around the rear of the car before she could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's already less than a week until EPIX!!!! 
> 
> Rey's gown: I imagine her wedding dress being a cross between Mon Mothma in ROTJ and Leia's ANH iconic white gown. The recent documentary [Halston](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9358192/) details how "Halston" was the designer's middle name, a family name, and while he/the brand pronounced it HAL-ston (rhyming with "pal"), his mother insisted the family name was pronounced HALL-ston (rhyming with "fall"). 
> 
> Rey's White House tour is clearly based on [Jackie Kennedy's A Tour of the White House special](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Tour_of_the_White_House_with_Mrs._John_F._Kennedy). The [Vermeil Room](http://www.whitehousemuseum.org/floor0/vermeil-room.htm) is real.
> 
> All credit to [Tom & Lorenzo](https://tomandlorenzo.com/) for "Everybody wants to be me, or do me!". This is how they describe the aesthetic of celebrity red carpet fashion. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr at theafterglow-writes !


	5. Making Up Is Hard To Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'm sorry it's been two months since this updated. I had two major deaths in my family since late November and honestly, TROS threw me for such a loop I ended up replotting this and just couldn't work on it for awhile. 
> 
> When last we left our Reylo, they were in the thick of wedding planning and got in a fight about Rey's premarital security investigation. Ben was acting like a complete dick and Rey stormed out in a huff, so they're not speaking at the beginning of this chapter. 
> 
> Ok, boomer? LOL

May 8, 1965

The Wednesday following the Kentucky Derby dawned dreary in the capitol and Ben stood with his hands on his hips before the window behind his desk, contemplating the grey skies. Hux perched on the armchair behind him to read the day’s schedule. The roses in the garden bloomed in spite of the weather, bright pops of white and red amongst the green thorny bushes that ringed the pathways. The clouds hung low to the ground and looked almost black at the horizon. 

“Ways and Means is due to give their report from nine to eleven, followed by the Pentagon briefing. You’ve got a half-hour for lunch, then a delegation of state reps are coming by to talk about your veto on Choice in Education--” Hux paused and Ben could hear the change in his tone. “Then there’s the logistics meeting for the wedding from three til five.”

He rolled his head from side to side. 

“Okay.” This was all he could muster in the face of this schedule. 

There was a brief pause as Hux stood. “Okay?” 

“I said okay,” Ben repeated, turning back to face his chief-of-staff.

Hux’s already-thin lips became even thinner at this. “Is everything alright?”

Ben sat heavily in his desk chair and toyed with the pen resting on the leather pad. Were things alright? 

“I--” He started but broke off. “Things are stupid, Armitage. Do you ever feel like that?” 

Hux glanced at his watch but sank back to his chair at this statement. Hux was no less busy than he, perhaps moreso, but when Ben didn’t elaborate he settled against the backrest and crossed his legs, waiting for Ben to go on. 

“So you had a fight,” Hux finally prompted. 

They hadn’t spoken since Rey had left the Residence on Sunday after their argument. Aside from the previous fall, it was the longest they’d gone without speaking since he’d known her. Three days felt like an eternity, and now he would be forced to confront her with an audience of security specialists about the wedding as though nothing had happened. 

But it had. She was obviously upset and he’d read her all wrong. He’d brushed her feelings aside, acted as though she had no right, and now she was freezing him out. His calls had gone unreturned and Ben knew Hux had to know what was going on. Phasma was their maid-of-honor and Ben had no doubt Rey had confided in her.

He could only bring himself to nod. 

“What do you think Rey wants?” Hux sounded like a therapist.

Ben scoffed lightly. “I’m supposed to know what a woman wants?”

Hux’s gaze was steady but a flicker of annoyance caused him to blink. 

“She’s mad I didn’t tell her about the security briefing,” Ben admitted. “But I can’t tell her everything, and she knows that, so I don’t understand--”

“She wants to feel taken care of, Ben,” Hux interrupted with the answer and a slight shake of his head. It was a sure tell of his friend’s frustration and he breathed deeply against the same emotion rising up in himself. “You have to consider her side of things. You’re busy all the time, and she’s given up her whole life for you. She’s not working right now, everything is new--”

“Well, what if I can’t do that?” Ben crossed his arms now. “Take care of her.”

“You do it all the time,” Hux countered. “That’s your job, remember? To make America feel taken care of.” 

Ben turned his pen end-to-end a few more times as he digested Hux’s assessment. 

“And you need to apologize.” His friend folded his long arms in front of him over his leather binder. “I know it’s hard right now, but things will fall into place. They always do.”

He remained silent at this order. 

“Her numbers were outstanding, by the way,” Hux went on. “She’s more popular than you. People are fascinated with her. You shouldn’t squander that goodwill over a tiff.” 

Ben steepled his fingers in front of his face, elbows propped on the desk. “I know.” His reply was curt but he felt a resolve take hold with Hux’s acknowledgment of the situation.

“Good,” Hux nodded and headed for the door. “I’ll see you at three, then.” 

The door clicked closed behind his friend and Ben gazed out at the room. 

* * *

“Gentlemen,” the police officer at the front of the room intoned as the curtains were drawn by Hux’s assistant in the conference room. “Mr. President, Miss Rey. As you know we’re here today to review the route, protocols and schedule for the big day next weekend. You’ve each got a packet in front of you, and we’ve got the same information here on the overhead screen.”

The man extended a retractable metal pointer and touched it to the screen, causing it to wiggle slightly and the projected image to warp. 

Ben glanced up from the folder stuffed with paper at Rey seated across the wide mahogany table from him. She hadn’t greeted him when she entered the room, instead allowing Wexley to pull out her chair for her before taking his own seat in the outer circle of chairs meant for aides and security detail. Her man had nodded at him and Ben wondered how much he knew of their argument. 

She wore a floral print blouse and high-waisted trousers with her hair pulled back from her face in a bun. He had become adept at reading her during months of briefings on the campaign trail the previous year, but her expression today was inscrutable. 

“The President’s motorcade will depart the White House at fifteen-hundred sharp, flanked by DC police on motorcycles with Secret Service,” the officer began. “We’ll be gathering Miss Rey and her attendants earlier and proceeding to the church ahead of President Solo.”

An aide flicked another transparency onto the overhead machine showing the route Rey’s party would take. 

He doodled with his pen in the margin of that page in his folder, wondering how this could possibly take two hours. The wood paneled room felt stuffy and he slouched in his leather chair. The tumblers in front of each seat held water but the glasses were sweating in the late afternoon humidity. The ceiling fan overhead was on but did little to move the air in the room packed with more than twenty people. 

For her part, Rey listened attentively and sat forward at the front edge of her chair. The men in the room dwarfed her, many of them burly ex-military types who favored double-breasted suits that made them look as wide as they were tall. 

“The ceremony is set for sixteen-thirty,” Hux rose to take over from the officer. “The officiants tell us it will likely run no more than forty-five minutes, but we’ve planned for a variance of up to fifteen minutes either way.” 

Several of the men shifted at this news and one of them cleared his throat with a polite cough. 

“Did you have a question?” Hux paused and looked directly at the man.

“So you’re saying,” the man stabbed a finger at the paper in front of him, “This thing could be over as early as five… or as late as five-thirty?”

Ben counted five seconds ticking by on the government-issue wall clock before Hux answered. 

“Correct,” his chief-of-staff replied. The consonants sounded brittle with Hux’s sarcasm. 

He looked up at the clock and caught Rey’s eye as she did the same. Hux continued speaking but it faded into the background with her studying him. 

She didn’t smile, but after what felt like an eternity he dared to blink slowly at her, just once, and mouthed _ hey _ before returning his eyes to the screen. He could feel her eyes on him and he looked back after a moment to find her still gazing at him and his heart leapt when her eyes fluttered closed before she trained them on her papers once more. 

All was not lost, then. 

The meeting was interminable but Ben practically leapt up when they ended ten minutes ahead of schedule. Groups of men stood clustered around the table but Rey wove her way through them to the hallway with Snap trailing her closely. 

He pushed his way through after her and spotted her standing just down the way, pretending to study a painting. 

“Mr. President,” Wexley offered his hand. “You ready for next weekend?”

Ben clasped the man’s hand with a glance towards Rey. “Give us a minute, will you?” 

“Take your time,” Wexley’s eyes crinkled. “She doesn’t have any plans this evening that I know of.”

“Thanks,” he squeezed Wexley’s shoulder before proceeding to her. 

He came to a stop behind her and she turned to face him with her chin tilted up. The crowd from the meeting was beginning to spill into the hallway and he wanted to get her alone. 

“Come here.” He took her by the elbow and thanked the stars she let him steer her into the foyer of the State Room. She knew better than to make a scene in front of people, but she crossed her arms the moment he released her to close the door behind them and he could tell from her expression she had no intention of doing the talking. 

The drapes on the walls that hid the doors of the coat room muffled the sound of his dress shoes on the polished hardwood as he stepped in front of her and crossed his own arms. 

“Can we talk?” He tried despite the set of her mouth. 

“I don’t know, can you?” Rey shot back. 

Ben tucked his chin to his chest at this. So she was still angry. He would have to be the one to say it first. 

“Look, I’m sorry about Sunday,” Ben kept his voice low. “I know things have been… difficult with planning the wedding. It’s a lot of stress, but I feel it, too--okay?” 

Her eyes remained downcast until he reached out and crooked his finger beneath her chin. Her eyes flashed at his touch but she held his gaze out of the tops of her eyes. 

“Let me make things up to you,” he murmured as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. “Please?” 

She resisted at first before responding to the gentle pressure of his thumb against her chin and her lips parted against his. Her arms uncrossed and her fingers came to rest at the seams of his dress shirt under his jacket. 

The last tour group of the day shuffled by outside, oblivious to their presence just behind the heavy wood-paneled doors. Their guide spoke French but Ben knew he was repeating the same speech the English-speaking groups heard.

_ The State Floor is used for formal entertaining by the President and its grand ballroom, the State Room, can seat up to seventy-five guests. To our left we have a series of smaller rooms used for smaller functions, named for the colors of walls in each… _

He waited for the sound of shuffling feet and cameras winding to move past the doors before he pulled away and looked at her again. 

“Can you stay tonight?” He smoothed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. “I want you here with me.” 

“But I thought--” Rey broke off when he shook his head. 

“I know, but I don’t care,” he traced his finger down her cheek. “You’re more important to me than protocol.”

“You certainly picked an odd time to stand on propriety,” she said softly. “We’ve been way over that line for a long time.”

Ben studied her before he replied. “Is that a yes?”

“I wouldn’t disobey an order, Mr. President,” she stood on her toes to give him a peck. “But don’t keep me waiting. I might change my mind. You know how we women are.” 

Ben felt his cheeks flush. How was it that she made him feel like a teenager? He was the most powerful man in the world. A heavy heat settled in his groin as he cupped the back of her head and brought his lips close to her ear. 

“Then go upstairs,” he murmured. “Take off your clothes and wait for me.”

The heat prickled when he heard the tiny gasp that escaped her as his words settled in. She looked up at him in disbelief but her expression darkened when he met her gaze without blinking. 

_ Go_, he mouthed. 

The heavy door clicked shut behind her and he shoved his hands in his pockets. Deep breaths did nothing against the tide of arousal that licked up his low belly and he paced, trying to calm himself as he gave her a head start. 

He would take the stairs, he reasoned as he grasped the cool brass knob to exit the State room. Enduring chit-chat with the elevator operator was impossible in this state and he headed for the stairwell in the corner of the building. His long legs made short work of the three flights of stairs but he paused at the top landing to catch his breath. 

It wouldn’t do to appear in such a state, even though it felt like nothing so much than the night they first kissed nearly a year ago and he’d spent hours restless from the slightest contact with her. He was embarrassed but helpless in the face of her power to undo him this way. 

The guard stationed in the hallway outside his private quarters stared straight ahead and only saluted when he gave a curt nod and greeted the man. 

“Good evening, Mr. President! Sir, Miss Rey is--”

“Yes, thank you, I know!” He barely acknowledged the young soldier before closing the door and locking it behind himself. 

His heart was pounding now and while he wanted to blame the stairs, he knew it was the thought of her that had him breathless. 

The trail of her clothing into the bedroom caused his breathing to hitch and he followed her shoes, her blouse, her stockings to the double doors that separated it from the living area. He was still fully dressed when he laid eyes on her once more, lounging in his bed under the top sheet. The material draped over her lower half but she lay propped up against the pillows without a stitch on her. 

Her freckled shoulders and arms gave way to unmarked skin just above the swell of her small breasts and continued to the sheet that obscured her navel. Her hair was loose now and it reached her collarbones in a dark wave over her right shoulder. 

His tie and belt would be the death of him, he decided as he gazed at her. He wasn’t even going to make it to the bed. 

“_Fuck_, Rey,” he whispered but she quieted him with her finger pressed to her lips and a shake of her head. 

“No talking.” She sat up and held out her hand. 

He couldn’t think straight, not any more; if that was how she wanted him, he had no objections. Talking was what got them into trouble, every time. When they shut up and let things take their course…

Ben toed off his dress shoes and crawled up the bed to her, pausing only to strip back the sheet and loosen his tie before sprawling out between her thighs. Forget using his stupid tongue to talk when he could use it on her instead. 

She was already soaked and he ground his hips against the bed as he worked her up until a sharp tug of her hand in his hair interrupted him. He followed blindly, his fingers gathering her chest together as her fingers found his belt and undid his trousers. Her fingers grazed his hard-on through the material and he shuddered as she freed him from it to palm his length, twisted her thumb and forefinger over his head. 

Shuddering, he gave in to the need that had consumed him for hours now. The room was quiet aside from her breathing and the very sound of it brought him to the edge: first ragged as he plunged into her, silent as she held it, then panting _ oh, oh, oh _ as he spilled into her and her hips bucked against him. 

The shadows lengthened across the ceiling as the sun dropped lower in the sky behind the clouds and he lay with her cuddled along his side. 

An hour had passed since the end of their meeting when she finally spoke. 

“I got an offer to write again,” she said offhandedly, her finger tracing the buttons of his dress shirt. He had removed his tie and balled it up on the nightstand but was still wearing the rest of his suit. 

“You did? Congratulations.” He whispered this against her hair. Her shampoo came in a brown glass bottle from the drugstore, he knew that much, and it smelled like marigolds and sunshine. It sounded stupid, but that was its scent. 

She raised her head to look at him. “It’s with the _ Post _. They want a weekly column.”

He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “Are you gonna take it?”

A smile ghosted over her lips but then she looked crestfallen. 

“What?”

Rey surveyed the wreck of the room before answering. “They want a weekly on ‘morality and public life in America’,” she continued. “It feels like a joke.” 

Ben couldn’t help but snort at this. 

“I mean, it’s a joke, right?” Rey laughed now too, and Ben’s disbelief gave way to uncontrollable laughter.

“It does,” he conceded when he caught his breath. “But are you going to take it? I know you miss writing, and it would give your time more shape. Help give you a public voice.” 

She quieted again, studying him. She worried her bottom lip between her front teeth and suddenly, her answer dawned on him. 

“You already said yes, didn’t you.” There was no need to phrase it like a question when he knew the answer. 

She nodded but her eyes searched his. She was waiting for a reaction and he drew a slow breath, contemplating this. 

He nodded then, too. “Then we’ll figure it out. I’m proud of you.”

Her fingers left his to trace down the side of his cheek and came to rest on his lips. 

“Thank you,” she breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU on Tumblr @theafterglow-writes or on Twitter @TheAfterglowwr1! Thanks for reading, even after all this time.


	6. But I Do

_ May 20, 1965 _

_ Washington, D.C. _

Rey surveyed the wreckage of her apartment. 

The clock on her range indicated six-twenty in the morning, but she had lain awake since four. Absent last minute tasks for idle hands that had been taken care of by professional planners, her bridal party had stayed over until nearly one when she had shooed them back to their hotel and home. It had still taken an hour for them to all depart after threats of physical violence if they lingered one second longer when she needed her rest. Connix had to be awakened from a fetal position on the floor and Rose sagged between Paige and Jessika, her legs weak from many glasses of wine.

Phasma had been the last to leave, her long limbs draped over Rey’s couch. She looked like a cat who’d had too much cream. 

“Are you gonna keep this place? Your bachelorette pad?” Phasma’s eyebrows waggled. “Just in case?”

Rey was exasperated at the question the night before. A pang struck her now as she considered the stacks of boxes waiting in neat towers by the door for the movers. They were set to transfer her belongings to the White House while they were away the following week on their honeymoon. Ben’s schedule allowed them a short three-day yacht trip in the Meditteranean before a meeting in Europe and then they would depart for a tour of South Asia to launch the national service corps he had campaigned on after a brief stop back in America. 

She perched on the arm of the couch, alighted to a chair in the kitchenette, then dawdled by the stove heating water for coffee. Hopefully the girls had drunk enough water that they’d be ship-shape again by ten when they would be picked up to begin getting ready for the ceremony. First there was a light brunch, then it was off to the salon with them all. They would arrive at the church at three, where they’d dress and a few photos would be taken before it would be time to walk down the aisle. 

The tea kettle rattled on the burner and spit a few drops of water through the whistle before Rey moved to it. With the flame extinguished it was so quiet Rey could hear the mechanism of the clock on the back of the stove clicking. A few early morning birds sang in the bushes outside the building but despite the sun being fully up, nothing stirred on the street. A dog barked in a yard a few streets over and a car in need of a muffler passed on the main road. For a Saturday in the nation’s capitol it seemed eerily still, except right where she was. 

She heaved a deep sigh as she made her way back to the bedroom with her mug of instant coffee. Her real coffee was already long since packed away and despite the thin feel of the instant crystals in hot water, it made her nostalgic for early mornings on the campaign trail drinking instant from a Styrofoam cup. Her dress hung in a garment bag on the closet door and Rey peeked inside, as if the dress could’ve gone anywhere since the last time she’d glanced at it mere hours before. 

Yards of white silk charmeuse draped in the quilted protective cover and Rey dared caress it once more with her index finger. The material was so light it moved away from the slightest touch and she zipped the bag closed lest she snag it somehow with her nail. 

A small smile crept to her lips to remember the designer at the final fitting a week before. She had expressed concern that her breasts might show through the delicate material--so fine it didn’t allow for a bra-- but he had waved off her concerns with one hand.

“There is no underwear in space,” he stated with simple finality. “You are a young, beautiful alien queen deigning to take a human man as her consort, it’s 1965 and people have nipples! Her Maj will deal with it.”

She giggled again at his insouciance and a real smile split her cheeks now thinking of his next remark.

“Besides, President Ben’s seen your nips by now, hasn’t he?” The young man stood face to face with her as he tweaked the way the shoulder seam came together and glanced up from his work to make eye contact. He spoke softly. “I mean, look at him--I’d have shown him mine on a first date.” He winked with this confession before moving around to smooth her cape over her shoulders and down her back over the modest train of the dress. 

She blushed even now remembering her surprise at his forward manner. They had stood together in front of a full-length mirror and she took in the sight of herself for the first time in the completed dress. The bias-cut charmeuse clung to her slender figure in a way more reminiscent of a negligee than the stiff, formal skirts shown by many of the others designers, but the high, draped Grecian cut of the neckline was very chaste. Her arms were bare and the cape fluttered at her elbows and down her back when she moved. The material clung at her hips and thighs as she twisted this way and that, admiring his work from all angles. 

“Perfect,” the designer breathed. “You look perfect. How does it feel?”

Her phone ringing now startled her and Rey settled cross-legged on her bed with her mug before answering it.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” Ben’s voice sounded a touch raspy. “What are you up to?”

Rey’s eyes strayed to her dress bag before she answered. “Just getting up. Are you feeling alright?”

Ben cleared his throat before dismissing her concerns. “It’s nothing. Just a late night. How about your crew?”

“Same.” Rey smiled now, suddenly feeling lighter that she was talking to him. “But you’re not supposed to see me on our wedding day.” Just saying the words aloud made butterflies flutter in her middle.

“This doesn’t count! I can’t see you,” Ben chuckled. “Can you imagine? If people could see each other talking through the phone?”

Rey hummed as she pictured it. It seemed like something from a science fiction B-film that played before a feature at the drive-in.

“That would be odd,” she agreed. “Maybe in the future, though?”

“Mmmm,” Ben made a small noise that went straight to her core. “We’ll see. I don’t know if we’ll live that long.”

“Sure we will,” Rey was optimistic. “You know something practical has to come out of all this space-race research. Why not phones where you can see the other person? Surely better than more freeze-dried food?”

Ben laughed now, a real laugh. “I thought our dessert is going to be that dried ice cream? I bet the Europeans will love it.”

Rey laughed too at her mental picture of astronaut ice cream being served on porcelain dishes and foreign dignitaries picking it up with gloved index fingers and thumbs to crunch it away. They had tasted it on a campaign trip visit to a research facility and found it terribly crumbly but somehow delightful and had joked about it ever since.

“It is,” Rey leaned into it. “Along with the dried beef bourguignon, coq au vin jerky, seasonal dehydrated vegetables, and gravy reduced to powder. You just sprinkle it on top like salt.”

“Of course you do,” Ben played along. “Everybody knows that.” 

A moment of silence passed before they both quieted their laughter. 

“I called to say I love you,” Ben continued. “That’s all. And I’ll see you at four-thirty.”

The butterflies returned as she calculated the hours before the ceremony. “I love you, too. Don’t be late, Armitage will--”

“I know, I know, Hux will have a stroke if we’re behind schedule.” Ben’s chuckle at his friend’s distress sounded wicked. “But I’ll be with him all day, so if I’m late, so is he.”

“I’ll see you later, Mr. President,” Rey murmured. “Thanks for calling.”

“Till then,” Ben hung up first and Rey held the phone to her ear until the dial tone came on the line.

She placed her mug on the side table before she flopped back on her bed in a sudden fit of excitement that curled her into a ball. She turned on her side and hugged her pillow to her face, peeking over the edge of the pillowcase at the ceiling.

They were getting  _ married _ today. 

* * *

“For heaven’s sake, where the hell is my lipstick?” Rose turned a tight circle with her fists balled at her waist. “I just saw it and now I don’t!”

Rey tracked her friend’s distress in the mirror as her make-up person worked on her face, wanting to help but unable to move. He put a finger on her shoulder to bring her attention back just as she broke a smile at how cute Rose looked even when she was angry. The color of the bridemaids’ dresses was a gradient from a soft grey at the shoulders to inky black near the hem and each girl had pink flowers woven into their hair as the wedding planner had envisioned. It was a concession to spring though the late afternoon humidity and temperature felt more like early summer to Rey; she hoped she was not sweating through the material of her dress as she sat to be beautified.

“Ro-ro, it’s right here,” Connix held the silver tube aloft from a pile of identical-looking cosmetics on a table. “Where you left it!”

“Hush, KK!” Paige’s bark in her sister’s defense wiped Connix’s smug expression back to neutral. “That’ll do.”

Paige and Connix were nearly the same height and more alike in build than Paige with Rose, but the bond of sisters always won out in disputes. The two girls wore matching necklaces they’d had since childhood, two halves of a friendship heart whose original chains had long since disintegrated and been replaced by a leather cord that hung the pendant right below their collarbones.

For her part, Phasma kept popping back and forth between the mens’ dressing room and theirs in a calculated effort to avoid the hairdresser finishing her hair with flowers. The salon was flummoxed by Phas’s short hair when the other girls had traditional updos and Rey thought she looked radiant with her hair parted deep on one side and styled almost like a man’s. She was the only one who appeared indifferent to the stress of the public ceremony but if Rey knew anything, she could count on Phas having had more than a few nips of Scotch with the boys. 

“Is the Governor here?” Rey murmured when Phasma drew near, trying to speak without moving her face. 

Phasma’s smile was pitying. “I think Han’s more nervous than either you or Ben. He’s having a good time, though.”

Absent her own parents, Han would walk her up the aisle. She had last seen him the night before at dinner and he alternated between looking proud of Ben and lost without Leia at his side. As he’d given his toast, Rey had noticed for the first time how closely some of Ben’s mannerisms mimicked Han’s and a pang had struck her that she hadn’t known Leia long enough to see the same in her fiance. 

“Good,” Rey replied as her eyes were being painted on. “How are we doing on time?”

“We’re still bang-on,” Phasma reassured her. “People are still getting settled and it’s slow going. It’s nuts in there with all the bowing and hand-shaking and kissing.”

“A lot of them are related,” Jessika threw out over her shoulder. “All the European royal families are basically cousins.”

“Kissing cousins, it sounds like,” Connix rolled her neck as though it was halftime at a field hockey match. Her muscled shoulders and arms looked gorgeous in the dyed silk and the hairdresser had softened her normal braid-buns into something that looked almost romantic with pink spray roses woven into them. 

“We still have fifteen minutes before we’re officially late,” Phasma went on. “How’s all this coming?” She gestured at Rey’s general person. 

“Almost... there...” The makeup artist braced his hand against Rey’s cheek as he lined her eyes. False eyelashes weighed down her eyelids in an unfamiliar way, but they were necessary for the television broadcast. 

“And how are you doing, Miss Rey?” The weight of the man’s hand lifted and Rey opened her eyes to find all her maids gathered behind her, looking at her in the mirror. 

A photographer who had quietly, unobtrusively been working the room as they got ready snapped a photo of their reflections before anyone could say otherwise. 

She took in the makeup artist’s finished work, turning her face to each side before nodding. It was heavier makeup that she ever did for herself but she would be in front of a giant audience in the cathedral and even more on television. Her eyes bore wings that extended her eyes in dramatic fashion and her lips were lined and filled with a deep red lipstick. It had been tedious to sit through multiple rounds of tests but in the end, the results were stunning. 

“Thank you,” she replied. “Would you give us a minute?” 

“Of course,” he winked at her and left his tools to be gathered later.

They could hear the music beginning in the cathedral and with it, a wave of nerves finally overtook her. She twisted back on her seat to look up at her friends, biting her lips out of habit.

No less than three of them exclaimed, “Your lipstick!” 

“Sorry,” Rey chuckled and schooled her face back to neutral. “I guess it’s time to do this before I wreck my makeup.”

Rose’s lip quivered as she whispered, “You look  _ beautiful _ , Rey-- I hope he doesn’t faint when he sees you.”

“I, for one, hope he does!” Connix snapped her gum before spitting it in the wastebasket. “That would be way more entertaining than things going right.”

Just as Phasma looked about to put in her two cents, a gentle knock at the heavy wood door interrupted them. It opened a crack and a familiar voice wound its way around the paneling.

“Am I allowed in this clubhouse?” Han peeked his head through. “Everybody decent?”

“Yes,” Rey called, standing at last to slip on her shoes. With them on, the dress hit perfectly at her toes. Her satin slippers would be visible as she walked but completely hidden when they were standing for the ceremony. “Come in, Governor.” 

Phasma and Paige stood aside to make a path from the door to Rey with Rose, Connix and Jessika flanking her on either side. They had all met Han at dinner the evening before and had no reason to be star-struck, but Rey caught their sideways glances as he drew near. 

“Hey kid,” he greeted her with a peck on her cheek. He smelled like aftershave and a whiff of Scotch, but he looked devastating in his tux. “Are you ready to hold me up so I make it down the aisle?” 

The girls tittered but to Rey’s surprise, she caught Phasma dabbing a tear away with her pinky. 

“Hi Han,” Rey breathed as she returned his kiss. His stubble felt rough against her cheek. Her diagram didn’t feel like it would support more conversation than that and Phasma’s uncharacteristic display made her breath uneven. She was afraid it was catching. 

“C’mon, ladies!” Phas straightened up further to shake off the emotion that threatened to crack her carefully crafted tough facade. “Let’s give these two a moment.”

A flurry of lipstick blotting, forehead dabbing and hair checks ensued before the room emptied out. There was a brief burst of noise that belied the commotion of the wedding procession assembling just outside the door, then it was quiet again with the door closed and Han checked his wristwatch before stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“How you feeling?” he tried. 

Rey nodded vigorously, picked up her bouquet and blotted the stems on a tea towel beside the vase. It was a simple arrangement of pink calla lilies tied with a grey ribbon. 

“Nervous?” 

She forced herself to draw a deep breath and look at her future father-in-law. 

“A little,” Rey admitted. “You?”

The organ increased in volume outside, signaling their entrance was expected at any second. 

“A lot,” Han smiled. “I’ve got to remember how to act civilized. What fork to use, all that jazz. Who’s related to whom and who’s not talking at the moment.”

Han’s confession caused Rey to laugh and with it, she felt her nerves subside a touch. 

“Oh my God, there was so much detail in the briefing!” Rey’s memory swam with the flash cards Hux’s staff had prepared so that she might have a prayer of recognizing half the attendees who would expect to be greeted with deference.

“I don’t know how you guys do it,” Han stepped closer to offer her his arm. “But you have each other.”

She glanced shyly at Han as she arranged her bouquet into her bent elbow on her opposite arm. 

“You look great,” he continued. “And welcome to the family.”

The door opened a moment after Han rapped on it and Rey leaned over to plant a quick peck on Han’s cheek. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

The older man bit his lips for a second and shrugged his shoulders as though embarrassed, and a pang struck Rey to think how he must be feeling at such a huge event without his son’s mother there to see it. She squeezed his arm to her side with her elbow and Han straightened up to give her a wink.

“Ready?” 

She gave a curt nod. She was as ready as she’d ever be, and she smiled to picture Hux’s face turning as red as his hair if the clock dipped one moment past the appointed time. 

A phalanx of photographers were waiting just outside in the vestibule and Han gave a small wave with his free hand as flashbulbs popped. Rey tried not to let the blinding light twist her face as she blinked and let Han lead her past them to the entrance to the cathedral despite their calls to stop and pose for them. Two ushers dressed in tails grasped the elaborate metal door pulls with their white gloves and drew open the oversized wood doors. 

The music was louder than ever but the strains of Pachabel’s Canon were nearly drowned out by the murmur that rippled through the audience as they realized she was finally approaching. They stood as one: a single body of guests swathed in satin sashes, clad in formal military jackets, arms covered by elbow-length gloves with gaudy cocktail rings stuffed over the top of the fingers. 

By contrast Rey felt small and plain as her eyes travelled up the stone columns to catch sight of the guests relegated to the balcony, straining to see her as they proceeded slowly down the aisle strewn with white flower petals towards the altar. She nodded at certain guests seated near her as she passed but they did not stop. 

“Remember, above all else,” the planner had instructed her, “This is your day. They are here to see you. Give them what they came for.”

She held her head high as she finally caught sight of Ben at the front under the canopy. 

Their eyes met and Rey’s heart skipped to see how his traveled down her person, taking in the sight of her before jumping back up to meet hers. He bit his lips and one hand darted partway up as if to nervously comb at his hair before he schooled it back to his side. Her bridesmaids flanked the altar on the left, standing from tallest to smallest, and to her surprise, she saw tears streaming down Phasma’s and Connix’s cheeks. Paige and Jessika looked a touch awestruck at the giant audience while Rose wore an expression like she was going into battle, determined to do her part and ready to sacrifice her life if needed. 

They slowed even further to walk the last several rows of pews containing the most important guests, heads of state and foreign royalty, before slowing to a stop at the foot of the altar’s dias.

The organist wound down the processional piece and the space echoed as the audience settled into their seats as one. 

A minister from the Cathedral stepped forwards from the semi-circle of religious officiants standing in front of their chairs to the microphone and smiled at them. He struck Rey as a gentle man, someone she might expect to teach grade school rather than lead a national religious body. 

“Who gives this woman in marriage?” the minister asked. His voice echoed in the cavernous ceiling area near the stained glass windows.

Han winked at her once more before stepping aside to shake Ben’s hand and sit in the front row next to a man dressed in military best whom Rey knew to be Hux’s father. 

She stepped to the microphone set up for them and took a deep breath, hoping her voice would not crack. 

“Father, I give myself,” she answered. 

A murmur went through the audience at this but she held her gaze steadily on the man, waiting for his reply. He gave a solemn nod in recognition before addressing Ben.

“President Solo, do you also give yourself freely in this marriage ceremony?”

Ben moved beside her and took Han’s place before answering. “Yes, Father, I do.”

“Then be seated,” the man gestured to the chairs set up. “And let us contemplate the world’s teachings on the institution of marriage as we gather here to witness the commitment President Solo and Miss Rey are prepared to make to one another.”

They moved as one beneath the canopy to the chairs and Rose dutifully arranged Rey’s cape over the back so she was not seated on it. The material overhead blocked out the sunlight streaming through the stained glass high above but lights set up in each corner illuminated the fabric from beneath. 

The rabbi stood now along with a Persian officiant and began to describe the canopy.

“Friends, family, ladies and gentlemen, your highnesses--welcome. In both our traditions, the bride and groom come together beneath a tent of cloth to symbolize the life they will make together as one: one heart, one mind, one home.”

Ben’s pinky caressed the side of her hand and Rey bowed her head, knowing what was next.

“In Zoroastrian culture, the bride’s family hold a veil over the couple,” explained the Persian. “Since Miss Rey’s family have already passed, we rely on these poles and your presence as witnesses to support the veil today.”

With his black robes swishing gently at his ankles, the minister rose to join his counterparts. 

“As we recognize the cyclical nature of our time here on earth away from our Heavenly Father to whom we will all return,” he intoned, “So too are circles present in marriage traditions across the world.”

“Please rise,” the rabbi motioned for them to stand. “The couple will now circle each other to represent the protection they provide one another.”

Rey stepped forward and began her slow path around Ben, who met her eyes steadily each time she passed in front of him. On her final circle, she glanced out at the audience and was surprised to see Queen Elizabeth dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that she delicately stuffed back into the sleeve of her glove. Their eyes met for a split second and Rey was astonished that the elder woman gave her a slow blink and the tiniest smile before her face relaxed back to neutral authority. It was the spitting image of the commemorative porcelain teacup her mother had from Elizabeth’s marriage to Prince Philip. As a child Rey had used it to play tea party with her toys as guests and she had the oddest sense of  _ deja vu _ now that the woman was sitting in the audience of her wedding. 

Ben’s circles around her were even slower and she felt her cheeks warm as he took her in. His gaze felt heated despite the public venue and she realized it was the first time in months it felt as if he was looking at her, and only at her, without thinking of anything else. 

He came to a brief pause before they continued once more around together to symbolize their equality. They came to a stop in their places and faced the officiant again expectantly.

“Before the couple exchange rings-- also circular--as a visible symbol of their commitment, we will hear from our Eastern traditions on marriage,” the minister went on. “First, a homily.”

They sank down on their chairs again holding hands and turned their attention to the lectern where a man in a scarlet monk’s robe waited with a leather folder containing his notes. His shoulder was bare and he wore sandals hewn of a rough, unfinished leather. A long strand of terracotta beads finished with a tassle hung around his neck and Rey had to train her attention back to him as the words of her rosary prayers rose to her lips. Despite his appearance, he projected a calm authority as he found his place. 

“Brothers and sisters,” he began. “As we gather here today to celebrate the marriage of Rey and Ben, it’s natural to find ourselves asking, ‘What is love?’”

He gazed gently at them where they sat before looking out at the audience. It struck Rey that this man was not intimidated by the pomp and circumstance of the event, and that he addressed them by only their given names and not their titles. 

As people. 

“We Buddhists recognize love not as an inward emotion, but an outward one. To love is to  _ understand _ one another,” he continued. “As our great teacher writes, ‘Understanding is love’s other name. If you don’t understand, you can’t love.’ When we understand one another--as parent and child, as neighbors, as husband and wife-- we cease to be two separate beings and become one.”

Ben’s grip on her hand tightened and Rey felt her pulse against his palm. 

“How, then, can we learn to understand?” A small smile creased the man’s cheeks. “It seems so easy, yet can be so difficult. We must  _ listen _ to one another to understand. That is the hardest lesson. To listen we must quiet our selfish natures so that we can hear the needs of those around us, and understand them. May you each listen and understand one another today, tomorrow, and for all time.”

With that he closed his folder and returned to his place beside the other officiants. 

“Please rise,” the minister beckoned them once more towards the microphone. “You have chosen to exchange rings as a sign of your love, fidelity, and commitment to each other.”

At this cue, Rose moved forward from the line of bridesmaids to hold Rey’s bouquet and it was not lost on Rey how her friend’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. She blinked slowly as the younger girl took her flowers before turning back to face Ben. 

Rey’s fingers trembled as she accepted the ring from the minister and held Ben’s broad hand in hers. It felt as though time were slowing down and she cleared her voice to steady it before continuing.

“Ben,” she began, “With this ring, I promise you my love, my life, my protection and my understanding, as long as we both live.” The ring hitched for a moment on his knuckle and her heart fluttered before it slid over and down to its resting place. 

Ben in turn gripped her hand gently and took her ring from the officiant. She already wore Padme’s amethyst ring and they had found a plain band to match with it. 

“Rey,” his deep voice no longer sounded husky as it had earlier in the day. “Please accept this ring as my promise to you of my love, my life, my protection and my understanding, as long as we both live.” 

The audience seemed to be holding their collective breath as he eased the circle of metal over her finger and pushed it into place next to his grandmother’s ring. It had warmed to his touch and Rey realized then her hands had gone cold despite the close, warm air in the cathedral. 

She exhaled shakily to see the two matched together on her hand and how his looked with the band encircling his own ring finger. 

The guests breathed a sigh of relief that the most fiddly part of the ceremony had gone smoothly and Rey’s pulse calmed. She was suddenly aware of tiny sounds around them: the hum of the amplification system, the fluttering of guests fanning themselves with their printed programs, the shuffle of feet on the polished stone floor. Logically she knew it had been so all along, but she was hearing it now for the first time since walking up the aisle to meet him. 

She glanced at Ben as the officiants readied the final part of the ceremony.

At her  _ husband _ . 

“The couple have chosen to light a unity candle with the help of their friends and family,” the rabbi narrated as the ushers brought in the candle and set it on the first step of the dias below them. This way they would face outwards towards the audience as they lit it. 

“It is traditional for the families of the bride and groom to light the tapers,” he continued. “Today we will have Governor Solo and sisters Rose and Paige Tico light them.”

Her friends stepped out of the line and Rey accepted her bouquet back from Rose so she could grasp the slender stick of wax from the usher, who held a lit candle for them to light the tapers. Rose and Paige each gripped the candle gently and tipped the wick into the flame, waiting for Han to match them before straightening up and handing them to Rey and Ben. 

They studied one another over the flames and Rey knew Ben was hearing Hux’s voice in his head just as she was. 

_ Don’t rush this part--look at each other first and count slowly down-- three, two…  _

On  _ one _ they bent and their tapers ignited the wick of the unity candle. A sly smile creased Ben’s eyes at the corners and Rey wondered if he was amused by Hux’s unfounded anxiety or something else. 

They handed their tapers back and faced forwards one last time. All the officiants stood and formed a close line around their microphone stand. 

“With that,” the minister concluded, “It is our pleasure to present to you for the first time President Benjamin and Mrs. Rey Organa Skywalker Solo!”

They turned towards each other and Ben’s hand came up to cup her cheek, hiding their lips from the guests. His smiling lips met hers in a chaste yet lingering kiss that made her long to speed up time until they could finally be alone together as man and wife. As he drew back, he caressed her lips with his thumb and murmured to her.

“You know I can see your nipples in that dress, right?” His breath against her cheek caused a bolt of heat to blossom in her low stomach as she realized why he had been smiling. 

She beamed up at him as though he’d just whispered something terribly romantic and not obscene to her in front of everyone. 

“That’s because there’s no underwear in space,” she replied mysteriously, enjoying the moment of confusion that washed over his features before he gave a slight shake of his head. 

A lone guest near the back broke out clapping before the rest followed suit as they turned towards the pews and lifted their joined hands between them as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, WHEW. Would any of you reading If Not Us two years ago have thought these crazy kids would finally be married?
> 
> Who am I kidding, of course you did! LOL 
> 
> Did you all know, the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. has [a Darth Vader gargoyle](https://cathedral.org/what-to-see/exterior/vader/)? Too strange!
> 
> Obv fictional Halston's remark about space underwear is George Lucas's comment to Carrie Fisher. I believe I described this before, but I picture Rey's dress being a sleeveless cross between Princess Leia's ANH dress and Mon Mothma's gown in ROTJ. 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr as @theafterglow-writes or Twitter as @TheAfterglowwr1, stay safe out there, and practice some social distancing by reading tons of smut! :)


	7. Roman Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Welcome back, and again, apologies for such a long gap between chapters. Our OTP just got married in front of their friends, family, God and the Queen back in DC!

_ June 5, 1965 _

By the fourth day of their journey through the Mediterranean, Rey’s shoulders turned brown and her arms followed suit. When the sea was calm and he was distracted with work, she lay on the deck in her swimsuit, baking herself in the southern sun. Her hair developed light streaks and her freckles stood out starkly across her cheeks. 

“I hate you,” Ben grumbled. He pulled his hat’s brim lower to the frames of his silver aviator shades and hunkered in his seat with a broad stripe of white sun cream slathered down his nose. By contrast his skin looked angry from the relentless exposure and had begun to peel within two days.

Rey snapped a picture of his profile anyway, ignoring his scowl as she wound the film. Her talents definitely lay more with words, but she had done the mandatory photojournalism class at school and took it on herself to document their working honeymoon. Her photos were decent, if a bit amateur, and besides--who would ever want to see them? She wanted to remember this brief time they had almost to themselves.

“I can’t help it if you’re allergic to sunlight,” she said cheekily. “I could get used to this.”

The brief shake of his head was his only acknowledgement of her teasing and she stowed her camera with a private smile. 

Their yacht had set sail from Nice, tracing the coast eastward towards Italy. Planned stops in Genoa, Rome and Athens to conduct diplomatic appearances before flying to Israel left plenty of time for sunbathing.

A flock of small boats trailed them at a distance, never out of sight but far enough away that they shimmered in the mirages raised by the sun off the water. First came their service detail, a handful of burly ex-Navy men thrilled to be given a mission overseas, then a rag-tag collection of smaller craft populated by paparazzi who insisted on trailing them everywhere they went. They had come uncomfortably close a few times on land, but here on the water they only dared get near enough to snap a few pictures as Rey moved about the deck. She had taken to waving at them as she stripped down to her bikini and arranged her towel each day. The American press had covered their wedding almost to the exclusion of Ben, crowning her their new princess, and now the Europeans seemed eager to follow suit. Already she had caught sight of photos of herself gracing the front pages of newspapers, smiling shyly as she trailed along behind Ben to the events of state they attended before setting sail. Her French skills were passable and she could guess at the headlines of the Spanish and Italian newspapers-- her years of Catholic school Latin would not go to waste-- enough to know they were all selling some version of her supposed rags-to-riches story. Bored of their own dynastic families and kohl-eyed film ingenues, the European press clamored for a newcomer to boost sales.

She lingered in the bath late into their last morning on land to read a profile of herself in _ Le Monde_. Her pruned fingers worried at her lips as she silently sounded out unfamiliar words and hid her smile at some of the outright conjecture about her character, their future plans, and what their marriage said about America. As far as she could discern with her schoolgirl language skills, her ascent to Ben’s side was being taken as a sign of democracy and equality. Her televised tour of the White House had been rebroadcast the world over, and the European pundits marveled at the audacity to bring the public into the private sphere of the American president. Their grudging admiration was always tempered with a quick judgement about the close coupling of the press and affairs of state. One article toed the line of suggesting journalists paying her any mind was a dangerous distraction from _ real _ political work, while others welcomed the open attitude of the Solo administration towards the coverage. 

For his part, Ben took briefings from Washington over the radio in the morning and the early evening. His work could not fully stop, but at night they were moored and the ship’s small crew retreated to another vessel, leaving them to themselves.

Rey shifted on the canvas cushion now thinking of it as she stared out at the distant, rocky shoreline. 

Until their wedding, their relations had been built around scarcity and secrecy. Even on the flight to Europe, she wondered if Ben might tire of her. Little comments made to her throughout their journey on his campaign trail had never fully left her and she hated that she still thought of them, despite all that had happened since. 

A private smile curled her lips and her eyelids grew heavy as she pushed the thoughts away. Absent distracting obligations and away from prying eyes, their devotion to one another’s pleasure unfolded unabated. Rey glanced at her watch and sighed against her impatience to find it was only two thirty in the afternoon. Ben’s head moved slightly as he caught her movement, but he merely looked back at his papers once more with the tiniest shake of his head.

Her linen shorts hiked up into the crease of her hip and Rey shifted to brace her feet against the back wall of the cabin. Absent a steady wind, the captain employed the motor and her seat hummed with the steady vibration of the Diesel engine pulling them towards Rome.

She glanced at her watch once more and held a deep breath. 

Ben’s appearance aside from his horrendous sunburn was enough to drive her to distraction, and she had nothing but relaxation and her books to divert her attention from him. She hadn’t seen him in slacks aside from their shore visits, and the sun off the water was finally beginning to turn at least his forearms and legs a dark tan. He rarely wore shoes on the boat and Rey caught herself staring like a lovesick teenager at the angles his legs and ankles made as he turned this way and that, crossed his legs then uncrossed them, or steadied himself with a foot propped against the bulkhead as the ship pitched against the waves as they changed tack. She envied even his papers that he smoothed with his broad hands and long fingers over to keep them from fluttering in the wind as he scrawled corrections and notes on them. With the shirtsleeves of his camp shirt rolled up to his elbows, the tiny movements of the muscles and tendons in his forearms caused her stomach to grow tight. 

The air felt hot on her upper lip as she exhaled, counting to ten while turning away to the horizon. The thought of the late afternoon on shore felt endless as she remembered how he’d kissed every freckle he could find the night before. Once she managed to stop giggling at the ticklishness, it had lulled her into a dangerous, semi-conscious state of constant, unfulfilled arousal that left her his pliant slave. 

It was a welcome madness, this devotion she felt to their pleasure in each other. As though the world was clearer somehow for her having felt this way. To know she could feel this way towards a man she was certain she hated just a short year ago. 

“Rey?” His voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“Mmmmm?” 

“You say you wanted to lie down for a bit before we land in Rome?”

She turned back to look at her husband over her shoulder. He shielded his eyes as he studied her and a smile quirked his lopsided lips.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Rey’s heartbeat throbbed between her legs when she stood and stretched. “Do you?”

“In a little bit.” He turned his attention back to his work and Rey retreated to the bedroom below deck. 

The master bedroom lay in the ship’s bow and the bed fit into the curve of the hull, coming to a point where they lay their feet each night. By day the cushions that made up the mattress were covered with a wool upholstery that made the backs of her legs itch as she sprawled across them now. The vibration of the motor was less noticeable here and she lay back with her elbow behind her head to stare out at the sky through the skylight to the deck, waiting for him. 

Rey bumped the heel of her canvas deck shoe idly against the platform that held the bed. This delay made her restless and he knew it, likely biding his time before joining her. 

With a huff, she undid the button of her shorts to reach her hand into them. Curling her fingers against her underwear caused her to hiss, her breath shuddering out of her. The fabric felt damp and hot beneath her hand and she rubbed slow circles over her swollen flesh. It nearly prickled as she dragged her fingernails against the striped cotton, tracing the seam of her body with the tips of two fingers. Her eyelids were heavy and fell closed as she considered what he might do to her when he came below deck. 

Contrary to what she had supposed about him when they first met, Ben took her pleasure as seriously as his own, a rare thing in her limited experience. He could be difficult to distract from his work at hand, but once he changed course towards her, she was the sole beneficiary of his attention. Whether it was a product of his being older, or more experienced, or just a serious type of person in general, Rey found her own willingness to please him growing in return. Before him, she had wondered what all the fuss was about, or whether she was somehow defective that she didn’t seek companionship as readily as her friends.

Now, though… The sense of clarity washed over her once again. 

Without warning the door opened and she startled upright before she could fasten her pants. 

Ben’s smile at her state of dishabille looked wicked. He closed the door and locked it behind him before addressing her.

“Are you that desperate? You couldn’t even wait for me?”

“I--no, I was just--” Rey scooted to the edge of the bed and made to get up, but he crossed the small space to her and his hand on her shoulder held her where she sat. “What are you--”

Ben’s free hand undid his shorts and he cupped the back of her head gently with his other. 

“Looks like you need to catch me up.” The small room was close and warm but she shivered when he eased his underwear down with his thumb in the waistband. 

He released her head to let her go to work and she hummed to feel him begin to stiften against her tongue. The wet slick grew between her legs and she ground down against it. It was--she felt--_ disgusting _ how much she liked this, the power he gave her over him, the way his eyes fluttered closed when she looked up at him through her lashes as she worked him up to match her. She felt her nipples tightening inside her bra and a tiny moan escaped her to imagine his hands on her.

They could hear the crew shouting to each other outside, above deck, but their cabin was quiet aside from the soft sounds they drew from each other. 

The waves slapped against the hull as the boat pitched in the rougher water near land and she fell forward against him suddenly, bracing herself against his thigh with her free hand. His head grazed her soft palate and she closed her lips around him as she eased his length back to what felt like a safe depth. 

“Oh shit Rey, I’m gonna--” Ben stammered, but it was too late. His fingers curled painfully into her shoulder and she opened her mouth around the hot gush that filled it without warning. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as she pulled away to swallow. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Looks like I’m not the only desperate one,” she said tartly, wiping the corners of her lips with the back of her hand.

His expression darkened at her impertinence and she shrieked to find herself hauled up onto the cushions once again and Ben’s fingers breaching her. Rey arched against him but he held her down easily. 

“Admit it, you wouldn’t have waited,” he murmured close to her ear. “You would’ve gotten off without me, then begged me for more.”

“No, no!” She tried to insist, but it came out in a breathy whine that sounded anything but convincing. Rey pawed him helplessly, one hand circling his wrist between her legs and the other clutching at his shirt. She could feel the tendons in his arm moving beneath the skin and it caused her to writhe. “I was being good!”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.” Ben’s teeth grazed her neck and she went still a moment lest he leave a mark. He slowed the rhythm of his fingers in her then, teasing her with a patience born of his own recent satisfaction. She bucked her hips, tried to make him speed up, but his fingers stilled deep in her. She pressed down against his wrist but he was stronger. His only response was to lift his head and regard her coolly, as though she had asked a dull question about foreign trade policy.

“Mmmmmm? Do you need something?”

“Please?” She pleaded. “I need to--to--”

Before her tongue could meet the roof of her mouth to form the word, her cunt spasmed around his hand. She was aware of the slick slide of his palm against her flesh, but her eyes clenched shut and her legs kicked out with the sudden bolt of pleasure that shot down them. The ensuing minutes could’ve been hours as he eased his fingers from her and wiped them lazily on her inner thigh. The constant sun made her tired, it was hot below deck in the afternoon, and she felt sleepily sated for the moment.

She was still floating when they heard the anchor’s chain begin to spool out of the hull and Ben rolled away from her onto his back with a deep sigh. Neither of them spoke for a moment, staring up at the underside of the deck. 

“What’s next, Mr. President?” 

He raised his forearm to glance at his wristwatch. It showed ten minutes to four in the afternoon. 

“Vatican visit, then dinner with the city mayor and his wife,” he replied by rote from the schedule Hux had dictated earlier over the radio. “It’s gonna be a long evening.”

“Good thing we got to nap then, isn’t it?” Rey mumbled. 

“You’re right, I should take more naps,” Ben replied easily, pressing a sloppy kiss to her temple. “You’re always right.”

“Of course I am,” she accepted his playful compliment. “That’s why you married me.”

His smile made her warm to her toes.

“I married you because I love you,” he replied. 

“And I love you back,” she whispered, raising her head to peck him on his cheek. “Now help me up so we can to get ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to everyone who keeps coming back to this, and a special shout-out to [midnightmorningcoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightmorningcoffee/profile) for kicking my a$$ into gear to get over the mental block I had on writing this next part.


End file.
